Sun and Moon
by Boogum
Summary: One rises with the sun, the other with the moon. It was a great divide that could not be crossed, but the landscape of the heart knows no boundaries. Her soul had whispered to his; there was no going back. A Zutara collection. Genres will vary.
1. Traces

So I haven't finished watching all of AtLA (in fact, I have only just finished watching season one, so please _don't_ give me spoilers), but I've been finding myself increasingly inspired by the Zuko/Katara relationship and decided to try my hand at a one-shot. Since I will no doubt continue to be inspired, I plan to make this into a collection of (mostly) unrelated drabbles and one-shots, though the next chapter will follow on from this one.

It hardly needs to be said, but this is my first time writing for this fandom, so be gentle. ^_~

* * *

**Traces**

The prison rig is abandoned when he gets there. Coal is scattered across the metal like the debris left from an explosion, some of which are still glowing in dying embers. A battle has been fought, but there are no bodies, no casualties—no trace of the attackers who had liberated the Earthbender prisoners, nor can he see any sign of the warden and prison guards who were designated to keep watch. But then Zuko doesn't need visual proof; the Avatar's fingerprints are smeared all over the rig, like dirty smudges left on a crystal glass.

Aang has been here. Aang has fought here, and then he must have escaped as he always does, slipping through Zuko's grasp like just another grain of sand. The bald monk is as elusive as the air he controls; one could chase him forever and, just as when trying to catch the wind, in the end all one will ever have is an empty fist. Zuko is tired of finding himself clutching nothing. He has to regain his honour so he can return home and reclaim his throne, his family.

"I will find you, Avatar," Zuko promises, and for a moment the coals at his feet glow red hot with his suppressed anger, his determination to succeed.

He is like a spring of coiled rage and bitterness waiting to be released. Two years he has searched—two years of pain and humiliation—but now the Avatar is at last within his reach. He just needs to find a way to catch the wind, a net to capture the intangible.

Sunlight streams down from the clouds, touching the decking with golden beams. Something flashes up at Zuko and catches his eye. Frowning, he glances down to see a necklace half-hidden beneath the ash: a simple choker with a pale, bluish-white stone hanging from the middle. He is instantly struck by its familiarity. He knows he has seen this necklace before.

He closes his eyes as he tries to place the image. That is when he sees her. A girl with umber skin and dark hair hanging in a thick braid over one shoulder, with a choker glowing like a full moon tied around her throat. She is small and slender, even when bundled up in the thick furs and robes that characterise her people, but it is her eyes that he remembers the most. Bluer than any ocean he has sailed, her irises are vivid and emotive and whisper of the element that runs through her veins. A Water Tribe girl. A mere peasant. An enemy.

Zuko does not think to question why her face is so imprinted in his mind. All that matters is that he now knows the necklace is hers. Instinctively, he closes his fingers around the stone, locking it tight in a possessive grip. There are no plans forming in his mind just yet; in that moment he is only thinking of the girl with the blue eyes and the dark hair, so rich and exotic compared to the females of his own nation.

He is still holding the necklace when he leaves the rig to join his uncle.

It is only later that he will realise the significance of this lost treasure. Water is not as elusive as air. Water can be contained, can be captured. He doesn't think to ponder why his heart quickens at the thought of seeing the little Water Tribe girl again. She's just a means to an end—nothing more and nothing less. He is searching for the Avatar, and she will be the net that helps him catch the wind.

A smile curves his mouth as he gazes down at the necklace resting on his palm. Yes, he thinks, a reunion is most definitely in order. The little girl has lost her trinket. It is only fitting he should return it to her.


	2. Contradiction

This one-shot follows on from the first chapter and is based on the Waterbending Scroll episode. I have directly quoted some of the exchange between Zuko and Katara from the cartoon, but most of that is still paraphrased. The rest is all my idea of what might have happened—with a Zutara twist. ^_~

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**Contradiction**

It had seemed like a good idea at the time: steal the waterbending scroll, learn the arts she had tried so desperately to discover on her own—though with not much luck. And then there was the fact that they needed the scroll to help Aang. Not that aiding the Avatar had been the foremost thought in her mind when she had snatched the treasure from the pirates. Truthfully, she had still been feeling the sting of seeing Aang—an _Airbender_—perfect techniques that she even now struggled to master. To make things worse, he then had the nerve to tell her how to improve her skill, and she was supposed to be the teacher.

Katara did feel guilty for yelling at Aang, but that didn't mean she was going to stomach the humiliation he had made her feel. She _had_ to get better at waterbending—if only to regain her sense of worth—so she had decided to, uh, borrow the scroll for a bit to practice on her own. No one needed to know; Aang and Sokka were both asleep, and Momo could hardly say anything. At least she hoped Momo wouldn't. The lemur could be rather crafty when he wanted, but then an intimidating glare from her was usually all it took to keep Momo's mouth shut, and she'd definitely pulled out the big guns. She had wanted to be alone while she practiced.

Except, as Katara soon realised, no amount of studying the scroll could get the water to behave. Even when she sucked up her pride and tried to do what Aang had suggested, the water continued to elude her control, to the point where she found herself raging at the river with far more heat than caution. That was why she didn't notice when the pirates surrounded her, no doubt attracted by her angry splutters. What she did notice was that there were odd noises coming from within the bushes. Frowning, and with her heart fluttering in trepidation, Katara parted the leaves and saw a familiar ship docking on the river bank.

"Oh, no!" she whispered.

Quickly pulling herself together, she spun on her heel and prepared to run back to Sokka and Aang when she found herself colliding face-first with a broad chest. There was an uncouth laugh from somewhere above her and then fingers locked around her shoulders, almost lifting her off the ground. A rancid stench of alcohol and fish burned her nostrils, making her want to gag. Katara didn't know what was worse: the pirate's bruising grip or his stench.

"Get off me!" Katara screamed, struggling against his hold.

The pirate laughed again: a deep, belly-rumbling chuckle that told all too well what he thought of her attempts to escape. Anger boiled from deep within her and, in an act of pure instinct, she shaped her arms into the motions of the water-whip and brought the river in a stinging lash against his head. He groaned and brought his hands up to his face in reflex, releasing her at the same time. Katara didn't waste her chance. Guided only by the pounding of her heart and the cold fear spreading over her skin, she broke away from her assailant and ran and ran and ran—

Straight into the arms of an oncoming figure. The scream that bubbled up in her throat was choked into a breathy gasp as hands closed around her wrists, immobilising her with an effortless strength. Her heart stuttered in panic, and she raised her eyes to find herself staring into the skewed yet oddly handsome features of an all too familiar Fire Nation prince. It was Zuko.

A faint smile curved his mouth. "Don't worry," he said in his low, raspy voice. "I'll save you from the pirates."

Katara met the amber eyes that gazed at her so triumphantly and knew she had lost. Those long fingers digging into her wrists were not letting her go anywhere; it was futile to resist. Breathing heavily, she gritted her teeth and, though her body screamed for her to fight back, she forced herself to relax in his hold.

His smile expanded a fraction. "A wise move."

Katara had to bite her tongue to stop herself from making a retort. The sound of twigs snapping had them both turning their heads to see three Fire Nation soldiers step out from the forest. On the opposite side, the same burly pirate she had first run into was now closing in on her, sword raised for attack.

"Stay your blade!" Zuko commanded sharply. "No one touches the girl. Not yet, anyway," he added, glancing at Katara with the faintest of smirks.

Smug bastard.

The burly pirate scowled but lowered his sword, though he continued to glare at Katara with a look that promised much pain if he ever got his hands on her. Katara resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at him. Childish actions would get her nowhere, no matter how satisfying. She had to play her cards right if she wanted to make it out of this unscathed.

She raised her gaze back to Zuko and was surprised to discover that he was staring at her intently. No, not at her—at her _chest_. An angry blush darkened her cheeks and the glare she gave him would have made a platypus bear run for cover. Zuko didn't appear to notice.

"What's this?" he murmured.

Before Katara could react, she felt his hand release her wrist and snatch the scroll that had been sticking out of her robe.

"The waterbending scroll!" the pirate exclaimed.

"Hey, that's mine!" Katara cried, and made a lunge for it with her free hand.

Zuko held her back at arm's length and raised his good eyebrow. "You mean this is what you stole," he corrected, faintly amused.

Once more, her cheeks flooded with pink. Zuko turned to face the Fire Nation soldiers.

"Tie her up to the tree so she can't escape," he ordered, shoving her unceremoniously at the closest soldier. "The rest of you can round up the others to search for the boy. He's bound to be around here somewhere with that Water Tribe peasant."

"What about the scroll?" the pirate growled.

Amber eyes flashed with a hint of fire, darkening into a deep gold. "Oh, you'll get your scroll, but not until I get what_ I_ want." His gaze flickered back to Katara, who had been dragged over to the tree and was now being lashed to the trunk with thick rope. "That's where you come in."

"I'm not telling you anything!" she retorted, struggling against her bonds.

The corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk. "We'll see."

More twigs snapped, followed by the sound of rustling bushes. The group turned as one to see the rest of the pirates and the Fire Nation soldiers emerge from the forest. A crease formed on Zuko's brow.

"Well?" he demanded. "Did you find him?"

"No, Prince Zuko," the foremost soldier answered with a hasty bow. "We could not find the boy."

Zuko rounded on Katara. "You! Tell me where he is and I won't hurt you or your brother."

"Go jump in the river!"

A muscle twitched in his jaw and his eyes narrowed a fraction. There was a moment where they simply glared at each other; then all the frustration died from his golden irises and his expression became softer, almost pleading.

"Try to understand," he said in a much gentler tone as he closed the distance between them. "I need to capture him so I can restore something I have lost: my honour."

Katara gritted her teeth as he circled around behind her, blinding him from her view. It was unnerving how vulnerable she felt; she could no longer see him, but she could _feel_ his presence behind her like a wall of fire, getting closer and closer. Something warm brushed against her neck like the caress of butterfly wings—an exhalation of breath. Her own breathing sharpened as she realised he was leaning directly over her.

"Tell me where he is," Zuko repeated in a low persuasive voice, "and perhaps in exchange I can restore something you've lost."

She swallowed hard. He was so close—_too_ close. Her heart thudded in a wild tattoo against her ribs as she felt his fingers brush against her neck, her collarbone, and then something cool came in contact with the skin at the hollow base of her throat. Instinctively, she looked down.

"My mother's necklace!"

The words were out before she could stop them. It was foolish to let him know how much the heirloom meant to her, but he had taken her off guard. She knew she had only confirmed his suspicions, though, for just like that the necklace was snatched away and Zuko stepped out from behind the tree. Smugness radiated from every pore of his body, and it only got worse as he dangled the necklace tantalisingly in front of her eyes, like a master taunting a half-starved pet with food.

"How did you get that?" she asked, not quite able to hide the desperation and anger in her voice as she followed his—and the necklace's—progress back towards his troops.

"Well, I didn't steal it, if that's what you were wondering," he responded in an amused voice, still lazily swinging the necklace to and fro.

Everything about him in that moment made her want to hit him. Unfortunately, she was still roped to the tree.

Zuko turned to face her and suddenly all trace of humour was gone from his expression; his eyes were as hard and dangerous as the fire-tinted gold they resembled. "Tell me where he is," he ordered in a voice that allowed no room for refusal.

Naturally, Katara refused. She loved her mother and she desperately wanted the necklace back, but protecting the Avatar was more important. She was not about to betray Aang now. Zuko would have to do better than that. Judging by the sour look about his mouth, the prince had come to the same conclusion. Before he could respond, however, the pirate captain stepped forward.

"Enough of this necklace garbage!" the captain growled. "You promised us the scroll!"

Zuko narrowed his eyes, and then a disturbingly pleasant smile twisted his features, as if he had just seen a long-lost friend. In one fluid motion he reached behind him and grabbed the scroll that had been tucked into his armour. "I wonder how much this thing is worth?" he mused in an innocent tone, except in his free hand he held a glowing pool of flames—flames which were now mere centimetres from burning the scroll to cinders.

"No!" the pirate captain exclaimed. "Stop!"

Zuko's mouth levelled into a grim line. Katara watched the orange flames lick closer to the scroll. It took all of her effort not to cry out. She wanted that scroll just as much as the pirates.

"Find the boy and you can have the scroll," Zuko said in a deadly voice.

Katara heard his unspoken words: _Defy me_, he silently seemed to say, _and you can watch this precious scroll of yours burn to ashes right now._

The pirate captain stiffened, straightening his back as stubborn pride kicked in. The tension in the clearing rose as the two men stared at each other—Zuko allowing the flames to creep just a little bit closer—and then the captain made a gruff noise that could have been a sigh of defeat.

"Fine," he growled, and turned his back on the prince as he ordered a selection of his crew to search the forest. Katara couldn't help but note they looked the most dangerous of the bunch.

Zuko folded his arms across his chest as he watched the group of 'high risk traders' pass out of sight. "You four go with them," he said, casting a glance at the stoic line of Firebenders. "Make sure they don't pull any tricks. I want the Avatar alive and unharmed."

The soldiers bowed. "Yes, Prince Zuko," they said in unison.

Katara watched the armour-clad men head into the forest and then glared at the young prince standing so proudly before her. "You won't catch Aang. You'll never catch him."

Zuko's eyes were hard as they met hers. "You're wrong."

This time she didn't even need to listen to hear his unspoken words. The obsessive need to capture the Avatar was like a thick cloak of darkness surrounding him. Zuko was the kind of person who would never give up. Never.

And now he was holding her captive.

Katara lowered her head in shame, realising for the first time the full magnitude of her situation. It didn't matter that she had not told the prince where Aang and Sokka were hiding. Zuko had her completely in his power—a trump card of the worst kind—and she knew he would not be afraid to use her vulnerability to his advantage. Aang would not be able to abandon her; it wasn't in his nature. She was the perfect bait, and it was her own foolishness that had got her trapped—that would get _him_ trapped.

_I'm so sorry, Aang_, Katara thought, feeling the unbidden pressure of tears sting her eyes. _I am so sorry_.

**X**

It seemed like hours had passed since Katara had first been captured by the Fire Nation prince. The men who had been ordered to find Aang and Sokka had still not returned, for which she could only be grateful, but she had to admit that a part of her wished they would just find Aang and be done with it. Every joint in her body was protesting at being stuck in the same position for so long, and she would have given anything to just be able to sit down for a moment. Her legs were killing her.

Katara winced as she tried to get herself more comfortable and felt the rope keeping her tied to the tree rub into the tender flesh of her wrists. The soldier who had secured her to the trunk had taken no chances; the knot was efficient and allowed no room for escape. Unfortunately, that also meant that her constant fidgeting and attempts to loosen the rope had only made things worse. Now she just felt bruised and sore and more than a little defeated. It didn't help that she was surrounded by a bunch of glaring—and, in some cases, _leering_—men.

She knew that she should have been afraid, and when the pirates had taken to observing her in _that way_ she certainly had been. Fourteen was young, but not young enough for a desperate man not to notice the subtle hints of feminine curves still developing; just a glance at the fat one in the corner with his top knot and greasy smile was enough to tell her that _he_ had noticed. But as the minutes passed and she remained unmolested—captive, yes, but still unmolested—she realised that she had nothing to fear from the pirates. The reason for this sudden peace of mind was the almost six foot fire breather standing in front of her.

_Zuko_.

Her eyes flickered to the young prince, taking in his stiff posture and folded arms. He hadn't moved from the spot since the pirates had set up camp. At first she had thought it was so he could keep an eye on her, but after ten minutes of feeling herself be undressed by half of the men's gazes in the camp, she had realised he was actually keeping an eye on _them_. Apparently, he had not been lying when he had said that he would save her from the pirates. To say she was grateful for his protection was an understatement; to say that it changed her opinion of him for the better was a gross exaggeration. Just because she couldn't add rape to his list of crimes didn't make him a saint. After all, he was the one who had ordered her to be captured in the first place.

The prince in question glanced briefly at her, as if by thinking about him she had somehow summoned his attention. A faint crease formed on his brow and she couldn't help but notice how vividly his scar stood out in the firelight—a crimson slash mixed with burgundy that was just so angry and ugly and seemed to burn with malice even now, despite the fact she knew it must be several years old. Yes, this was the face of her enemy. This was the face of the nation who had taken her mother away from her, even her mother's necklace. And yet—

Her gaze dropped to his pocket where she knew he kept the leather choker. It was difficult to determine what exactly it was she felt in that moment. So many emotions were fighting for dominance in her breast: rage, sadness, fear, loneliness, but also curiosity. It was the last that had her raising her eyes to examine the prince. He was no longer looking in her direction, and from this vantage point all she could see was the unblemished side of his face: the smooth, pale skin and the angular ridges and curves that combined to form surprisingly delicate features. So young. So different from that monstrous other half.

_Why?_

The word almost escaped her lips. Because that was the question she had really wanted to ask him. Not how, not where, but _why_. Why had he kept her mother's necklace? And if there had to be a how, then how had he known the necklace was hers?

She stared hard at his profile, willing him to look her way. Zuko did not appear to hear her telepathic commands and continued to stand in front of her with his arms folded and his gaze fixed on the dying fire. The corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown and, in a strangely unconscious gesture, he moved his wrist in a graceful curve and the flames immediately brightened, bathing him—and, by extension, her—with warmth. It was the first time she had seen firebending used for something other than destruction or as a threat and she wondered why the image should make her feel so conflicted.

Why _he_ should make her feel so conflicted.

That was when she saw the old man making his way towards them: short, portly, but finely clothed and his grey hair and beard styled into the fashion that high ranking army officials usually adopted. This was a man of wealth and respect—undoubtedly so, judging by the way the lounging soldiers had inexplicably straightened to their full heights.

"Uncle!" the prince exclaimed, dropping his hands to his sides. "I thought you were staying on the ship."

Katara glanced at the grey-haired man in surprise. So this was the infamous General Iroh.

"I was," Iroh responded in a surprisingly easy-going voice, "but you had not returned and I was getting worried."

Zuko re-crossed his arms. "The men are still searching."

General Iroh had been casually taking in the campsite as his nephew talked, but his eyes widened when he spotted Katara. He looked surprised, even a little disapproving. She stared back at him challengingly, wondering what he would do.

"Prince Zuko, why do you have a lovely young woman tied to that tree behind you?" the old man asked, raising both his eyebrows. "You must know that is no way to treat a lady—" a chuckle "—or to get a girlfriend."

A light flush stole to the prince's cheeks. "I'm not trying to get a girlfri—it's not like that, Uncle!" he ended with a hiss. "That girl travels with the Avatar. If we don't capture him tonight, he's bound to come after her at some point."

Iroh gave the prince a long, scrutinising look. "Very well," he said slowly, "but just because you have taken a young woman prisoner does not mean you should get no sleep. You look exhausted."

Zuko waved off the older man's concerns with an impatient hand. "I'm fine."

"A man needs his rest, Prince Zuko. How do you expect to capture the Avatar or guard this young woman if you can barely keep your eyes open?"

Katara saw the way Zuko compressed his lips into a thin line, stubborn pride emanating from every inch of him. Looking at him closely, however, she realised that he did look exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and there was a strained tension about him, as if he were functioning on drive alone. She couldn't believe she had not noticed it before.

"Zuko," Iroh repeated, gripping his nephew's shoulder. "You are not a machine. Sleep. I will watch over things here and will wake you if the men return."

Golden eyes flashed with a myriad of emotions, and then Zuko just let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine," he said, looking away.

But Katara could not look away. She watched the boy with the golden eyes and ugly scar long into the night, trying to make sense of all that she had experienced and witnessed, and repeating that same old question in her head over and over again.

_Why?_

But Zuko offered no answers; he kept his secrets locked tight inside him, and when morning came—bringing with it a captured Aang and Sokka—she no longer asked why. Because then it didn't matter. What mattered was surviving. What mattered was that _he_ was her enemy and would stop at nothing to get his hands on the Avatar, and she refused to be his bait—necklace or not.

It was only later, when she would touch her fingers to the spot where the blue stone should have rested, that she would remember that night and the confusing mixture of feelings it had inspired. So many contradictions. An enemy who had taken her prisoner. An enemy who had protected her. An enemy who was both ugly and handsome. An enemy who was just a boy and who had a loving uncle who nagged him to sleep just as much as she nagged Sokka and Aang.

An enemy who she knew she would never forget.

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I finished writing this in the very early morning hours, so if you see any typos, etc, please do point them out to me so I can fix them!


	3. Talisman

**Talisman**

It is a child's mantra—the kind of thing that must be repeated over and over because there is no one else to give comfort and fear has long since distorted the truth. There are no monsters under the bed. I am not afraid of the dark. Azula always lies.

_Azula always lies._

Her stomach twists, and she hugs her knees to her chest, wondering what kind of sick experiences could cause a sixteen-year-old boy to mumble those words in his sleep. She wonders why she even cares.

She doesn't trust him. She doesn't even like him. He just turned up at the temple with a wave and a hello and expected to be welcomed into their group. But she hasn't accepted him. She will never accept him—not after Ba Sing Se. Not after everything he has done.

_Azula always lies._

Her fingernails dig into her knees. She wishes he would stop—wishes she had never woken up and decided to go for a walk to shake off the restless feeling in her limbs. Then she would not have discovered him curled up in a pathetic looking ball far from the warmth of the fire, far from the warmth of his companions, and muttering those desperate words over and over like a talisman. She would not be experiencing such inner turmoil, wondering if she should wake him or leave him.

_Azula always lies._

It's just three words, but somehow they dig deeper into her heart with every whisper. Perhaps it's part of being a healer, or perhaps it's just her own inexplicable compassion seeping through, creating cracks in her resolve no matter how many times she tells herself that she hates him and that he doesn't deserve a scrap of her respect.

"Just let it go," she tells herself. "It's just a nightmare."

Except she knows it is not in her nature to walk away. That's why she's still sitting beside him, after all, and shivering under the pale beams of the moon. The nightmare is hurting him, pushing him to speak those magic words that will make the ache in his heart fade. But the monster is more powerful than his talisman. She can see it in the tightness of his jaw, in the sweat gathering on his brow and the frantic flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. He is losing this battle, and somehow his pain speaks out to her, begging to be healed.

_Azula always lies._

Katara closes her eyes and buries her face into her knees. Everything in her resists helping him, but another part—the part that reached out for a scarred cheek and traced skin so rough it was like dragon scales—knows that this is something she must do. Because she _does_ care, and though she doesn't trust him, she cannot ignore him either.

Exhaling softly, she raises her head from her burrow and stares down at the boy beside her. He's still huddled up in a ball, hands clasped to his chest as if in supplication. His hair is sticking to his face from sweat, half covering the ugly scar that warps the left side of his features, and for some reason this makes him look absurdly young. She can see his lips forming the words over and over; his talisman against his sister—against whatever truth, or lie, Azula tried to feed him. It is a pitiful sight, but it is enough to prompt her into action.

Without a word, she reaches out and places a tentative hand against his cheek—the unscarred side this time. His skin is clammy to touch, but she ignores that and moves her fingers up to his temple to focus her healing powers on soothing his thoughts, much in the same way she had tried to help Jet back in Ba Sing Se. There is so much resistance, so many barriers that refuse to let her in, but then he lets out a deep breath and just like that the pathways open. She cannot see what images haunt his sleeping mind, what words turn him into a child chasing shadows, but she feels her power begin to take hold and cannot help but smile when his feverish muttering stops.

For now, he is quiet. For now, he is at peace.

Katara's smile curves into a frown as she looks down at him, examining the sharp angles and curves that make up his features. "I still don't like you, you know," she whispers, but there is no malice in her voice.

The boy with the scarred face simply lets out another deep breath and shifts into a more comfortable position, losing his foetal-like posture from before. Absently, she smoothes the sticky hair away from his face and, for reasons she doesn't fully understand, she lets her fingers trail in a caress down to his jaw before removing her hand. He does not stir, and for that she can only be grateful. Tonight has been strange enough without having him wake up to discover her there leaning over him. She knows that this impromptu healing session is something she will share with no one—especially not with him.

Her frown deepens and she glances up to stare at the moon, letting the silvery glow wash over her. A part of her is still hyperaware of the boy sleeping beside her, and she sighs and hugs her legs back to her chest, resting her chin on top of her knees. She does not know how to make sense of the feelings that are swirling around inside of her. She never really has known. It's so much easier to deny and deflect, to use rage and hurt to smother her confusion, but he makes that impossible.

"Why do you always have to make things so difficult?" she mutters, glancing back at the dark-haired boy.

Because she doesn't know how to forgive Zuko, but she's beginning to realise that she doesn't know how to hate him either.


	4. Sifu Hotman

You have Lia (chromeknickers) to thank for this latest ficlet. I was all for angst, but she opted for something more light-hearted. Since I'm not one to deny a lady, I present to you what is probably going to be one of many shirtless!Zuko scenes. Enjoy!

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**Sifu Hotman**

Katara didn't think she was ever going to get used to the sticky heat of the Fire Nation. It clung to her skin like an invisible jump suit, making her feel as if she were wearing a second layer of clothing regardless of how little material was actually covering her body. That was why she was dressed in only her white wrappings and blue robe, and why she was staring enviously at the young Avatar who was currently training sans shirt.

Males. They had it so easy. No one cared if they wandered around bare-chested, but if she tried to do that she'd be stuck with a bunch of blushing, spluttering boys and probably a homicidal older brother to boot. It was so frustrating, and—and—

"Oh," Katara breathed, momentarily distracted.

The second jerkbender—as Sokka liked to call anyone who manipulated fire—had just removed his tunic with an impatient tug of his hand and was now taking up a fighting stance, clearly intending to join his pupil. Katara heard the material hit the ground with a soft thwack, but her attention remained riveted on that expanse of bared male flesh. That lean, undeniably _male_ flesh. For some reason, the effect was rather different to what she had experienced while watching Aang.

A light blush stole to her cheeks and, almost helplessly, she found herself following the strong curve of Zuko's shoulders, tracing the sinewy muscle down to the flat planes of his chest. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, and she bit down on her bottom lip as she allowed her gaze to drop even further, tracking the path of a single droplet as it caressed the defined ridges of his abdomen and then slipped lower and lower until it was lost in the waistband of his pants.

Katara let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, conscious of the heat slowly creeping its way through her body and forming burning strings that reached deep within her core. She told herself it was just the climate—that the sun was getting to her—yet she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the Firebender, mesmerised by the way his lithe form rose and fell as he manipulated the fire that swirled around him. He was like a blade; his body honed to perfection, so sharp and deadly, but still so graceful as he swept through the stanzas. Every thrust made her breath come a little bit faster, and she shifted uncomfortably, squeezing her thighs together as she watched his muscles tighten and ripple with each punch and kick, each flash of fire.

No, she decided. Watching Aang train had definitely not been like this.

Zuko crouched into a new form, springing upwards into a kick that burst with flames. Her heart thudded against her ribs and she dug her fingers into the dirt, slowly raising her eyes to his face. His black hair hung loose and half-veiled his features, but when he moved she would catch a glimpse of gold irises and the red scar that skewed the left side of his countenance. On anyone else the disfigurement might have damaged his looks beyond repair, but on Zuko it just seemed to fit. Without the mark she thought he'd be almost too handsome—even painfully so—to the point where the sharp angles of his cheekbones and his well-defined jaw would pierce rather than appease. Yet when he turned to face her, hitting her with the full force of that unique combination of masculine beauty and ugliness, she still found herself breathless. Embarrassingly so.

Gold locked with blue, and she once more took her bottom lip between her teeth as she felt the burning strings within her pull taut, ignited by the fire of his own carefully directed movements. Nothing else existed for her in that moment; nothing but the fragmented sound of her breathing, the rapid throbbing of her pulse, and the heat—that exquisite yet unbearable heat.

And it was all coming from him.

"Are you okay, Katara?"

Katara blinked and turned her head to see Aang staring at her in some concern as he stood half-crouched in a Firebending pose. She had almost forgot he was there.

"Huh?" she said, still feeling a little dazed.

Aang rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it's just ... you look, uh, flushed."

Warmth blossomed on her cheeks, darkening the already pink tones to a rich plum. "It's only because of the heat!"

"I-I know," he stammered, taken aback by the vehemence of her response. "I was just—"

"You just what?" she snapped, standing up and planting her hands on her hips. "Just what are you accusing me of?"

"N-nothing. I just—"

"That's right!" she interjected. "Nothing! Because there is absolutely nothing wrong with looking flushed when it's so hot and—and—" She suddenly rounded on Zuko, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. "And would you _please_ put a damn shirt on!"

Zuko's brow creased in confusion. "What?"

Katara froze as she realised what she had just said. "Nothing," she squeaked. "Please, carry on with your bending."

Cheeks burning with shame, she turned abruptly on the spot and marched back towards the house before they could ask her anything else. Zuko and Aang exchanged puzzled glances.

"That was weird," Aang said.

"Definitely," Zuko agreed.

Katara simply thumped her head against the wall. That was the last time she watched Zuko bend shirtless.

* * *

What? You really think I'd write a fic that is essentially a euphemism for sex. Please, it's just _Firebending_. ^_~


	5. Shield

I've been wanting to write this scene for a while now, and I know it's been done a million times before, but what the hell. This is just one of _those scenes_. Deal with it. ^_~

For the musically inclined, the piece of music I used to write this ficlet was Audiomachine's 'Path to Freedom'. I definitely recommend listening to that as you read.

* * *

**Shield**

They are opposites in every way, even in the colour of their fire. Azula has her gaze locked on him, blue sparks crackling from her fingertips and whipping around her in erratic flashes that are just begging to be released. He knows what is coming and takes up the now familiar pose to redirect her attack, exhaling deeply as he forces his body to relax. This battle has been his from the moment he first walked into the arena. Madness has splintered his opponent's mind, shattering her ability to be detached from all emotion, and in that he knows the invincible monster that was his sister is no more. He is not afraid.

Azula's mouth suddenly curves into a smile and those golden irises—so like his yet far too cruel to be considered similar where it counts—shift a few inches to the right. At first he doesn't understand, but then he catches sight of the girl with the dark hair and ocean-blue eyes, and something in him cries out in despair.

Not her. Anyone but her.

It only takes a split-second for Zuko to make his decision. There is no time to call out a warning, no time to stop and re-think. He simply runs—faster than he's ever run before—and his heart is pounding so frantically yet to him it feels so slow because there's no time, no time, and the lightning is coming, and there's no way she'll be able to stop it, and he just can't bear to see her fall.

He will not let her fall.

Azula laughs in vicious triumph as blue streaks rush forward in daggers of pure energy, aiming directly for the Waterbender's heart. Zuko feels his own heart stutter in panic as he realises that he is not going to make it. Because of him, Katara is going to die. She is going to _die_.

"No!" he screams, and in an act of sheer desperation he throws his body forward.

The lightning is moving too quickly for him to take up a proper stance; he can only meet the deadly embrace with open arms, knowing that it might be the last thing he will do—knowing that it is the only thing he could have ever done. Pain explodes in his chest, digging deep into the vital organ that gives him life, and he cries out in agony as he tries to redirect the flow of energy with his hands, his whole body trembling with the effort. He knows that he cannot contain this onslaught. Azula is going to beat him once again.

"Zuko!"

Dimly, he can hear Katara shouting his name, but everything seems so blurred now—the world merely a haze of colours and sounds. Pain is the only thing that is real to him in that moment: the burning, bloody wound that has been torn into his chest, and the shocks of lightning that make his body convulse in uncontrollable twitches as he crumbles to the ground, so broken and weak. He knows that it is too late for him. There is no time left to salvage his ruined body, no time for last words or regrets, but there had been enough time to save her.

_"And this way, no one else has to get hurt."_

It is his only consolation in this bleak and bitter moment: the knowledge that, even though he has failed in everything else he set out to achieve, he did not fail to protect _her_. Because Katara is still standing, and somehow that is enough.

Zuko closes his eyes, feeling his heartbeat slow with each ragged breath. There is a moment where the world simply ceases to exist—where the fragile flutters in his chest fall silent and all that he knows is darkness. But then a new rhythm takes hold, guided by gentle hands that refuse to give up on the battered organ that keeps him tied to this world, and suddenly he is breathing in a great gulp of air—once, twice, and thrice. A groan escapes his lips and he turns his head slightly, forcing his eyelids open with an effort to meet a pair of ocean-blue eyes.

_Katara_.

She is kneeling beside him, tears streaming down her cheeks, but she is also smiling and right now that smile is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. It is warmth and friendship and something so much more, and he cannot help but smile in kind because he is _alive_ and she is alive, and he had never thought that he would see her again.

"Thank you, Katara," he manages to croak, knowing it is her healing powers that must have brought him back from the precipice of life and death.

Katara reaches out and clutches his hand tightly in hers. "I think it is me who should be thanking you."

Something flickers in his eyes that is not quite mere gratitude, but he says nothing and simply returns the gentle pressure of her hand. The silence that falls between them is tender and filled with whispers of unspoken words, and in that moment Zuko knows he would become a shield for her all over again if it meant keeping her heart beating.

Because though the lightning struck his chest, his true heart has been entwined with hers all along.


	6. Flame in the Dark

**Flame in the Dark**

It was dark in the cave. Not to mention biting cold. Katara could barely make out the outline of her palm, and though she would have happily made a fire, she knew it would be too dangerous. Fire Nation soldiers were crawling all over the plains outside. One glimmer of light or smoke and she and Zuko would be toast. Literally.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm. "This is all your fault, you know," she snapped, casting an annoyed look at the shadowy form of her companion. "If you had just—"

"Hey! I wasn't the one who decided to play hero and got herself noticed as a Waterbender. If you had just kept your head down and shut up like I told you to, those soldiers wouldn't have come after us."

"So you're saying this is _my_ fault?"

A hand suddenly clamped over her mouth. "Keep your voice down!" Zuko whispered fiercely. "Do you want to alert the whole Fire Nation to our position?"

Katara glared at him through the darkness, or at least at his silhouette. His palm was warm against her lips—a distracting sensation—but she wasn't about to let that get in the way of her ire. Oh, no. There was no way she was letting him put this back on her, though she supposed she should have expected it. It was just like him to blame her for this mess—never mind the fact that if he had just cooperated with her from the beginning they would have managed to have got to the rendezvous point without mishap. But no. He had to go and argue with her, and _reason,_ and do all those other stupid things that guys loved to do when they thought they were right and a female was just being sentimental.

The jerk.

Zuko removed his hand from her mouth, and she was surprised at the shock of cold that swept over her skin. Resisting the urge to snatch his hand back, she scowled as she listened to him settle into his spot on the other side of the cave. Not that it put much distance between them. There was barely enough room for two adults to lie down comfortably, let alone two teenagers. It was a good thing that Appa wasn't there to steal all the room. They would have been like the ostrich-horse and the tent if that happened; first the head, then the legs, and the next thing they knew it would be she and Zuko left out in the sandstorm. Or, in this case, the icebox.

"Why is it so cold?" Katara moaned, rubbing her arms to get the blood circulating. "I thought the Fire Nation is supposed to have a hot climate."

"It varies," he responded with what she thought might have been a shrug. "I guess it just decided to get colder tonight." There was a pause, and she could almost imagine the annoying smirk that would be curling his mouth. "Besides, I thought you'd be used to this, coming from the Southern Water Tribe and all."

She gritted her teeth. "Well, where I come from the cold isn't _damp_, and we actually have furs to protect ourselves, and a fire!"

"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you decided to help a bunch of villagers and almost got us captured."

"Are you even listening to yourself? Those people were sick and you—" she picked up a pebble and threw it in his direction "—you were just going to leave them!" She shook her head, frustration and disappointment clawing at her stomach. "And you call yourself the Crown Prince."

"We had a mission. There wasn't time to go around playing Friendly Spirit."

"There would have been time if you had just—"

Zuko let out a strangled sort of growl. "For Agni's sake, Katara! Would you just drop it?"

She pursed her lips, fuming silently to herself for a few good seconds, and then she let out a deep breath. "Fine."

He sighed and she could hear him shuffling around, trying to find a comfortable space to lie down. "Look, let's just get some sleep," he said tiredly. "There's no way we'll be able to travel any further tonight with those soldiers lurking about. Maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow."

"I guess," she agreed.

"Good."

Katara stared at the darkened shape stretched out beside her, listening to his breathing slow to a more even rhythm. Slivers of icy wind slipped through the mouth of the cave and she shivered and hugged her knees to her chest, desperate to fight off the chill. Spirits, she hated this. She didn't know how Zuko managed to relax so quickly. He should be freezing his butt off, but instead he seemed quite content. No doubt it was a Firebending thing. He probably had his own personal heating system locked up in that toned, masculine body of his. Stupid Firebenders.

Her lips twisted into a scowl, but instead of saying anything she simply scooted down onto her side and curled up into a foetal position. Her knee brushed against what she thought might have been his back—or was it his chest?—and she flinched away in surprise, heart jolting at the contact. She hadn't realised he'd been _that_ close.

Zuko exhaled deeply and she felt the warm flutters of his breath tickle her cheek, almost like the fragile caresses of butterfly wings. Definitely his chest, then.

Tucking her hands under her chin, she frowned and listened to him breathe—in and out, in and out. It was unnerving not being able to see him. The darkness cloaked them both, yet she was hyperaware of the boy lying beside her: from the top of his shaggy head to his pointy Fire Nation boots. Just knowing he was so close—close enough to touch with just the smallest stretch of her fingers—made her heart quicken and her blood pound in her ears, though she didn't understand why. It was just Zuko—Zuko who was currently radiating heat like a handful of flames, though never enough to make her feel truly at ease.

Another sliver of wind crept into the cave, sending goose bumps up and down her skin. She huffed and rolled onto her other side, then did the same again five seconds later when that failed to elicit any better results for her comfort. Ten minutes more of this and she suddenly found an arm being draped over her back, pulling her into the curve of a warm, solid chest.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed, blushing furiously as she tried to break free of his hold.

Zuko tightened his grip, keeping her firmly in place with a hand on her hip. "I've just listened to you roll around and mutter to yourself for the past I don't know how many minutes," he muttered in a sleepy, exasperated voice. "I'm tired and want to get some rest, so either you shut up and deal with the cold yourself or you can shut up and sleep here. Make your choice."

Katara's cheeks darkened to a rich plum. "That's just—you can't just—I mean—"

He chuckled softly, and she felt the vibrations of his amusement travel all the way down her body to her toes. "Don't worry, Katara. I'm not going to try to steal your virtue, if that's what you're worried about."

"I never—" she shoved him hard in the chest, cheeks positively flaming now. "You jerk! You know that wasn't what I meant."

"Then stop acting like such a child," he retorted, all trace of amusement gone from his voice. "I'm a Firebender; I'm naturally warmer than most humans, and right now I'm letting you use that to your advantage. You might as well make the most of it."

She licked her lips nervously. "It's just ... a little awkward, that's all."

There was a pause. "I know," he said quietly, "but it's better than being cold, right?"

Her blush softened to a shy pink, and she hid her face against his chest. "Yes," she admitted. "It's better than being cold."

Zuko said nothing and simply wrapped his other arm around her, surrounding her in a new influx of heat. Katara couldn't stop the smile that came to her lips and instinctively snuggled closer to the source of that delicious warmth, nestling her face into the soft fabric of his tunic. She felt his heart stutter in an uneven beat against her cheek, but neither thought it prudent to remark on this. After all, her own heart was fluttering just as erratically.

"Goodnight, Zuko," Katara whispered, closing her eyes.

"Goodnight," he murmured.

Her smile widened a fraction and she curled her fingers into his tunic, letting her breathing slow as she relaxed in his arms. It wasn't exactly the ending she had been expecting for their mission, but she thought there were worse scenarios she could be stuck in. Indeed, perhaps there was something to be said for that stupid Firebending technique of his after all.

* * *

I thought it was about time for some harmless fluff. ^_~

In any case, as you have probably guessed by now, these one-shots are a mixture of canon, AU and everything else in between. I'm not following any kind of chronological order, so expect a lot of jumping around in terms of the AtLA timeline. I have also decided to let you, my readers, decide what the next one-shot will be. Currently, I'm tossing up between an angst piece about Zuko's scar (featuring a section from the CoD episode), a friendship piece between Toph and Zuko (with hints of Zutara), or another serious piece in which Zuko reflects on why his relationship with Mai is no good for him—and why a certain Waterbender just might be.

If none of these seem like your cup of tea, toss me a prompt of something you would like to read and I'll see what I can do. Who knows, I might actually write it—if not now, then at least sometime in the future.


	7. Toph's Field Trip

Apparently, I fail at writing on request because my muse wanted to push me into starting a new story—those plot bunnies are evil, I tell you! _Evil_!—and I said "NO, you flighty, horrible thing! You will obey me and work for your keep! Lia (chromeknickers) has requested some platonic Toph/Zuko love and I am determined to deliver!"

So then my muse threw a hissy fit and battled against me the entire time I was writing this one-shot and, well, this is the result. I don't know what to think of it, but maybe you will like it anyway.

* * *

**Toph's Field Trip**

"This is the worst field trip ever."

Zuko froze, half-wincing as that small and surprisingly wounded voice reached his ears. He didn't think she had meant for him to hear the mumbled words, and if he had any sense at all he would keep walking and pretend that he was as deaf to her murmurs as he had always been to his uncle's assertions that drinking good tea was indeed the meaning of life. Spirits knew he was getting tired of listening to the woes of a twelve-year-old girl and all the many, many times she had run away from home because her parents didn't love her enough to let her throw giant rocks at people. Especially since there were far more important things to worry about—like the fact that Sozin's Comet was almost upon them and Aang had gone missing.

But, alas, Zuko was not deaf—in fact, his hearing was incredibly good—and no amount of pretence could smother that slight tug of his heart or the sickly stab of guilt that twisted his stomach. Damn it all. Since when had he turned so soft? Oh, that's right. Since he joined the Avatar's little gang and discovered the disconcerting powers of a pair of greyish-green eyes and a mean—but affectionate—right hook.

"Look, Toph," he began in a much kinder voice, turning around to face the blind girl.

Toph folded her arms across her chest and glowered in his general direction. "What?" she snapped. "I thought you said we should be focussing on finding Aang."

He scratched the back of his head. "Well, yeah, but—"

"Then let's look for Aang!"

Zuko frowned as he watched her stomp ahead of him, sand billowing about her with each angry step. He knew he should just leave her be—that she would be quite happy to let the matter drop, if only to protect her pride—but she was hurt and upset and, sadly, he also knew it was because of him. The annoying voice that sounded suspiciously like his uncle told him so, among other proverbial things that Zuko knew he would _never_ understand, even if he spent the rest of his life drowning in tea leaves and trying to unravel the sacred mysteries of Pai Sho.

So—despite knowing that he was risking life and limb for even daring to comfort the sassy Earthbender—Zuko reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Toph," he said gently.

Toph's lips twisted into a scowl. "Watch it, Sunshine. You're one step away from getting a rock-fist in your face."

Zuko prudently released her shoulder. "Listen, Toph. I know you're upset, but—"

"Upset?" She let out a loud—if rather forced—laugh. "I'm not upset. Why should I be upset?"

His mouth twitched into a smile. "So you kicking up a sandstorm back there was just a demonstration of your uncontrollable joy?"

"Exactly!"

She made to walk ahead again, but Zuko easily out-paced her and blocked her path.

"Move," she ordered, thumping her foot against the sand in an ominously determined way.

Zuko didn't move. Instead, he knelt down and gripped the small girl by her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Toph," he said simply. "I shouldn't have shut you down like that."

For a moment she just stood there, unseeing eyes gazing blankly ahead. Then her lip quivered and she made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniff before she averted her face, letting her fringe fall down to hide her features. The stabbing, twisty feeling in his stomach sharpened and he tightened his grip on her shoulders. Spirits, was she crying?

"Oh, man," he muttered in alarm. "I'm sorry, Toph. I didn't mean to make you cr—"

"I'm not crying!" she exclaimed, wrenching herself free from his grasp. "I just got some sand in my eye!"

Zuko wisely chose not to refute her claim. That left foot of hers was looking mighty twitchy and like it might send a boulder flying his way at any moment. Or just a lot of sand.

"Okay," he said slowly, holding his hands up in an appeasing gesture as he got back to his feet; she might not be able to see his expressions, but she could at least make out his outline. "That's fine."

Toph was still looking the other way. "I just—" another sniff, hastily disguised "—I just thought that you might understand—you know, about my parents." More sniffs. "And everyone else got to have these life-changing field trips with you and I—" Her voice suddenly soured. "Well, I bet you wouldn't have said we had to focus on finding Aang if it was Katara walking with you."

Zuko's heart stuttered to a sudden halt in his chest. "What?" he said quickly—much, much too quickly. "What does Katara have to do with this?"

Toph rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Sunshine! I might be blind but I'm not stupid."

His cheeks warmed, staining the good side of his face a splotchy pink. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Right," she said dryly. "And Sokka really is in love with Appa."

Zuko stared at her for a long moment and then he sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I am not having this conversation with you."

"Why not?" she leaned forward, poking him in the chest. "Afraid you might let something slip?"

"There's nothing to let slip."

A wicked grin curled her lips. "That's not what your heart says."

Zuko smacked his palm against his forehead. He was _so_ not doing this right now.

"Let's just continue looking for Aang," he said curtly, walking ahead.

"Hold it!"

He stopped, gritting his teeth as he slowly turned back to face her. "What?"

"You still owe me an apology."

"I did apologise to you," he pointed out, barely keeping the exasperation from his voice.

She lifted her chin. "Well, I want to hear it again. You ruined my field trip."

Zuko's eyes narrowed. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'm sorry."

She held up a hand. "No. Do it properly."

His jaw clenched, but then he lowered himself into the traditional Fire Nation bow of respect. "I am very sorry for my rudeness, Toph. I hope that you will forgive me." Without waiting for her response, he straightened back to his full height. "So are we good now?"

Toph was quiet for a moment and then, before he could react, she punched his arm with lightning speed.

"Ow!" he groaned, rubbing the bruised limb.

The Earthbender flashed him a toothy grin. "_Now_ we're good."

* * *

Okay, so I know everyone in the fanfiction world seems to have Toph call Zuko 'Sparky', but that just reminds me of Combustion Man and that is a route I do not want to take. So, since Toph never actually calls Zuko by a nickname on the show, I have decided to have her christen him 'Sunshine'. Why? First of all, irony. He's a brooding kind of guy (though the moment she hears June say 'Prince Pouty', I think that one will win as a favourite hands down). Second, because he's a Firebender and has a close affinity with the sun.

Scoff at my reasoning if you will, but that's how I'm rolling at the moment. ^_~


	8. Scarred

**Scarred**

As a child, Zuko had got used to hearing himself described as handsome. His mother said it, the courtiers said it—everyone said it. It was just a fact. Azula was a Firebending prodigy, and he was a remarkably handsome boy. Fact.

By the time he reached the age of thirteen, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he would grow up to be an exceptionally attractive man. Features that had once been infamous for their delicate beauty began to take on a masculine edge, emphasising the angles and planes of his face, and drawing attention to a pair of almond-shaped eyes that were so golden in colour they seemed to constantly burn with an inner fire—or so the maids had claimed when they thought he was not listening, inspiring hot blushes from the prince in question. Even the noblemen's daughters began to take more notice of him, all curious to see what beautiful petals the Crown Prince would unfurl next.

But then he spoke out of turn in a war council, and suddenly there were no admiring glances, no surreptitious giggles. Instead, Zuko found himself kneeling on a hard arena, fingernails digging bloody crescents into his palms as he looked up into his father's face.

_He looks just like Fire Lord Ozai_, the courtiers had murmured.

Zuko had taken pride in the comparison once. Now, looking into those regally cold features, he felt no pleasure. Terror was a wounded sparrowkeet in his chest, thumping against his ribs to break free.

_Please, Father. I meant no disrespect. I am your loyal son._

No amount of pleading could move the Fire Lord. His father had become a monster wreathed in flames, unforgiving and without pity.

_You _will_ learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher._

That was when the inferno had struck, burning through flesh and tears—so many tears. Zuko had screamed and cried, feeling his face be torn apart by the fire of his father's rage, yet not once did he think to fight back. Somehow, he must deserve this. Somehow, his father's actions had to be right.

Pain had lulled him into a coma of darkness. When he awoke, everything had changed. He saw it the first time he looked into the mirror, barely recognising the boy that stared back at him. Shaved head except for the phoenix-plume that represented his status as the Crown Prince; left side of his face swathed in a bandage with red seeping through, dividing his vision so that he could only see out of one eye. He didn't need to unveil the ribbons of white to know that there would be no going back to the old Zuko. The lingering touch of fire told him that he had been reshaped into a new image of Ozai's creation.

A changed son. A banished son. An ugly son.

The healers told him he could let his hair grow back once the bandage was removed—that it would help to hide his disfigurement. Zuko chose not to. He looked into the raw, repulsive mark on his face and decided he would do nothing to cover it. Not even a little. He would wear the wound openly—not with honour, not with pride, but with resignation. Because every time he saw that twisted bit of flesh; every time he met the half-sealed eye that skewed his features or touched his mutilated left ear, he would remember the caress of fire, remember the despair, and then the small hope his father had given him.

_Capture the Avatar and you can return. _

That was why he continued to shave his head, letting his scar burn bright and ugly for all to see—for _him_ to see—because he needed the reminder. He needed to see people flinch away in disgust whenever they saw his face; to feel the inexplicable pain that would fill his heart whenever a pretty girl would catch a glimpse of him and then scrunch her nose up in distaste or, even worse, fear because he was just that abhorrent to look at. He _wanted_ them to hate him, to think him ugly, because somehow it pushed him to try even harder; to embrace his destiny in a way he knew he never would if he had still been that remarkably handsome boy of the past.

This was his future now: not to become an exceptionally attractive man, but to achieve the impossible. His father had branded him with a mark of dishonour, and so he would wear that mark—wear his dishonour—for all to see because one day he _would_ achieve the impossible. One day he would capture the Avatar and restore his honour, and maybe then—

Maybe then he would be whole again.

Except things didn't quite turn out that way. The Avatar turned out to be just a child, and for all of Zuko's determination and resolve, he never could bring himself to truly hurt the boy. That was how, at the age of sixteen, Zuko found himself thrown into the crystal catacombs of Ba Sing Se, dirty and bruised, with not even a fragment of hope left. He didn't bother to shave his hair now. There was no point. He would never return home, never capture the Avatar. All he had was a scar; a constant reminder of what he was destined to be and what he had chosen not to become.

It still hurt.

_You're a horrible person, you know that?_

He'd been surprised to find the Waterbender there. Big blue eyes, umber-tanned skin, and a thick braid hanging over her shoulder; she was still the same—still so smooth and unmarked. Not like him. Three years of surreptitious glances thrown his way—_always_ to the left, never to the right—had made him realise just how much people couldn't stand to look at him. The girl was right: his was the face of the enemy. Scarred. Ugly. It didn't matter if he had changed. He could never be free of his mark.

_Maybe you could be free of it. I have healing abilities._

Zuko hadn't wanted to believe her. He'd had his hopes dashed too many times before. He couldn't—_couldn't_—have them dashed again. Not for this. No one needed to know how deep those wounds reached into his soul; how much he yearned to be that beautiful prince again, just like he had always meant to be, or how he wished just once—just _once_—to have a pretty girl look at him without flinching first.

But Katara would not listen to his protests. She dangled her vial of Spirit Oasis water in front of him in an unintentional taunt and told him that it had special properties. That she had been saving it for something important.

Did she think he was important?

Zuko had closed his eyes then. He had not dared to meet her gaze, terrified that he would see a lie in those ocean-blue irises and be forced to watch his dream shatter. She had no idea how much hope she was offering him—so much hope that it physically hurt. A hand touched his face—the scarred side—and the wounded sparrowkeet in his chest fluttered to life, so fragile and vulnerable in its uncertainty. No one but the healers had ever touched his scar before, not even his uncle. For some reason, the gentleness of her touch hurt him too.

_I don't know if it will work, but ..._

It was a whisper, an unspoken promise, but it was never fulfilled. Instead, part of the wall had been blasted away and suddenly there were no more gentle touches, no more smiles and reassuring words. Just like that the Waterbender was gone, throwing herself into the arms of a young boy with an arrow on his forehead, while the boy himself glared at Zuko with open distrust. There was no sign of the Spirit Oasis water.

Zuko had wanted to cry. He didn't.

He had wanted to shout. He did.

But none of his actions mattered in the end. The Water Tribe girl still left, taking the last scraps of his hope with her. His dream had been shattered, just as he had feared, and it was then that the little sparrowkeet discovered that its wings had been twisted one too many times.

When Zuko left the cave, he was still scarred.

* * *

Oh, the angst of it all. I promise the next one will be happier. Maybe I'll even throw in a kiss. ^_~

It hardly needs to be said, but much of the stuff in italics is directly quoted from the cartoon. At least, I think it is. My memory is pretty rusty.


	9. A Little Hiccup

**A Little Hiccup**

He hadn't meant for it to happen. One moment she'd been glaring at him—all big blue eyes and heaving chest—and the next his gaze had dropped to that ridiculously taunting mouth and he'd found himself leaning in closer, closer, closer, even as his mind screamed that this was wrong, wrong _wrong_!

She could have pushed him away. She could have done a lot of things in that moment, but for once Katara did not resist him. He heard the soft catch of her breath, saw the way her eyelashes fluttered shut in anticipation, and then their lips met in a teasing caress, so light and ephemeral, yet simmering with promises of so much more. So much, much more.

Warm hands found purchase on slender hips, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss so that their bodies collided in a kaleidoscope of pleasure-tinged touches, igniting a fire within him that had nothing to do with bending and everything to do with the soft body pressed so deliciously against his. Her fingers slipped through his hair, tangling in the jagged black strands as she opened her mouth to him, letting him use his tongue to speak to her in words so ancient they could only be expressed in their purest, physical form. It was intoxicating and, on reflex, he tightened his grip on her waist, revelling in her taste, her scent—gods, just every damn thing about her. It didn't matter that she was a Waterbender and a daughter of the moon; in that moment she was as alive and powerful as the sun, swallowing him up in her heat, her consuming fire. He couldn't get enough of it.

Alarmed at the intensity of his feelings, Zuko pulled back with a gasp, knowing that he needed to stop; knowing that he was in way over his head and was quickly losing the last shreds of his already fragile control. Except he'd forgot how stubborn Katara could be, and she was not letting him go that easily. Curling her fingers into his tunic, she pulled his face back down to her level and crushed her lips against his, letting him feel her passion, her burning need. He closed his eyes almost helplessly, biting back a moan as he was swept up in a river of flames that scorched him body and soul, but it just felt so good, so _right_; he couldn't help himself.

Taking her face in his hands, he responded to her kiss more desperately than ever, one hand sliding up to fist in her hair as they half-stumbled their way towards his bed. She pulled him down with her onto the mattress, thighs spreading invitingly to give him more room, and somehow that just made it worse because now he could feel the heat of her throbbing against him, and that only made him want more—so much more. It was as if the fire he felt singing in her blood had somehow intertwined with his own inner flame, urging him to remove all barriers between them so that there was nothing separating their bodies but the naked caress of air.

His heart pounded in nervous excitement at the thought, yet once again he found himself pulling back. This was all happening too fast.

"Katara, I—"

"Shh."

Her mouth closed over his, and Zuko inhaled sharply as he felt her hand slip under his tunic, tracing a path along his bare skin. No one had touched him like this before; heck, he'd never even _kissed_ a girl like this before, and judging by the way her fingers trembled slightly he thought this was just as new to her. Somehow, that wasn't at all reassuring. He should get off her; he should tell her to go, but instead he found himself breaking away only to place hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, skimming along her racing pulse, and taking immense pleasure in the soft sounds that escaped her lips when he found a particularly sensitive spot.

Damn it. That was _not_ the retreat he'd had in mind.

Katara found his jaw and dragged his face back up to hers so she could kiss him again—sweet, drugging kisses that made his head spin with dizzy pleasure and his blood turn to liquid fire in his veins. There seemed to be no stopping her, no stopping _him_. He wasn't sure how it was that his hand got halfway up her thigh; he definitely wasn't sure how he'd ended up shirtless, let alone how he'd managed to undo the sash that kept her robe together, revealing a smooth expanse of umber-tanned skin and the white wrappings that covered her breasts. But then he felt those wandering fingers of hers dip lower and lower and lower—

"Wait," he said breathlessly, capturing her hand in his. "We can't—I can't do this."

Katara blinked and stared up at him with her cheeks becomingly flushed. "What's wrong?" she asked, still breathing heavily as she tried to catch her breath.

Zuko just shook his head, unable to find the words to explain his feelings. Maybe he'd just panicked, like he had when Jin had kissed him for the first time. Maybe he'd just realised how terribly, terribly wrong it was to have sex with a girl who, only four days ago, he had considered his enemy. Or maybe he'd just realised that he didn't want to hurt Katara, because that seemed to be all he was good for at the moment. _Hurting_ people, and he didn't want to cause her pain. Not ever.

He averted his face, dropping his hands back to his sides as he got off her and sat next to her on the bed. "I think you should go," he said quietly.

Katara sat up quickly, her eyes flashing in a way that would have been quite beautiful if all that anger wasn't being directed at him. "That's it?" she demanded. "You kiss me and touch me, and then you tell me to get out?"

Now it was Zuko's turn to blink. "What? No! It's not like that at all."

"Then what is it like?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I just—it's just—"

"What? Spit it out!"

"I don't deserve this," he said in a small voice. "I don't deserve you. Aang, he—"

Katara made a small noise of frustration. "Sometimes, Zuko, you can be so stupid!"

He watched her storm out of the room without a further word and then he placed his hands over his face, collapsing back against the mattress with a groan. Damn it, she was right. He had definitely botched that one up.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

* * *

So ends the point in which my collection can be considered an exploration of an unrequited or unfulfilled romance. Hurrah!

If you're feeling confused as to how this fits with the canon timeline that would be because it doesn't. In this 'world', Zuko joined the others after his imprisonment with Katara at Ba Sing Se, so he never had a relationship with Mai. Hence, he's never really kissed a girl except Jin. Cue much awkwardness.

Also, please point out any typos if you see them. I've read over this silly thing I don't know how many times, but I've also had no sleep in the past I don't know how many hours, so yeah. Editing skills kind of suck right now.


	10. Twisted Seduction

**Twisted Seduction**

It's almost like a dance. A violent, bloody dance. She weaves around him like the water she controls, slipping through the cracks of his defence and shoving him hard up against the wall. Bones shudder in protest, screaming in pain, but he simply shakes his head to clear the black dots swarming his vision and sends a fireball for her face. She barely dodges it.

Their eyes meet. A smile curves his mouth.

"Had enough yet?" he taunts in a low, amused voice.

She screams in frustration and lashes out at him with her water whips, trying to bring him down to a grovelling, bloody heap. He darts in between and around her attacks with cat-like grace, moving closer and closer until his chest is pressing against hers and his hands are locked tight around her wrist like manacles, trapping her in place. A sharp intake of breath, a shared heartbeat, and then something flickers in her blue irises and she loops her foot around his, bringing them both down in a tangle of limbs. His jaw hits the cobbled path and he feels the skin split, blood pooling out in a crimson trail. Groaning, he rolls onto his back, but before he can move, legs suddenly wrap around his waist, straddling him into submission. An icy dagger presses into his neck.

"Had enough yet?" she purrs in a mocking echo of his own words.

He glares up at her, meeting her triumphant blue eyes. "Never."

She laughs and leans down closer. He can feel her hair tickling his cheek. "Face it, Zuko," she whispers, lips just brushing his ear. "You've lost."

"Are you so sure about that?"

Before she can respond, he's twisting his legs around in a sweeping arc, using his strength and size against her to knock her backwards. The dagger shatters into crystal-like shards as her back hits the ground, and then _he's_ the one straddling _her,_ and he can feel her breasts rising and falling with her fragmented breathing—feel her heart racing in a frantic tattoo against his chest. A smirk curves his mouth, and he brings her arms up above her head, holding her wrists down in place with one hand.

"It's over, Waterbender," he says softly, staring down into her bruised but undeniably beautiful face. "Yield."

Another sharp rise and fall of her breasts, another glare directed his way, but this time there's more than fury and hate burning in her eyes. This time there's something else—something infinitely more dangerous. Before he can stop himself, he's leaning down, trapped by that siren call, and then his lips are on hers and she's kissing him back, and all he can think is that she tastes like blood: all copper and salt. He doesn't even know if it's her blood or his, but it doesn't really matter in that moment. This is just a new battle; a new struggle for dominance that must be fought, and he refuses to let her win. He'll make her cry out his name and squirm underneath him in exquisite pain-edged pleasure—make her beg and plead for release. He'll make her suffer.

Of course, he knows she'll give him just as good as she gets, but somehow that just makes the challenge all the more exhilarating. He won't back down and he knows that she won't either. They'll be dancing this dance until neither can move and they're both gasping for air.

It's a pleasing thought.

* * *

I was listening to Eminem's 'Won't Back Down'. This is the result.

Um, yeah.


	11. The Rose

This one is a bit late in coming, but here is the Mai/Zuko reflection piece I said I would write, as requested by Cocaine Blues. Zutara is implied.

Soundtrack: Andare – Ludovico Einaudi

* * *

**The Rose**

His mother had loved roses. The palace gardens were filled with them: great bunches of colour with silky petals that demanded to be touched and admired. Zuko had found himself fascinated by the flowers as a child—especially the red ones. The Crimson Queen, in particular, had always caught his eye: a shy rose that unfurled its petals so secretively but, upon reaching full bloom, would dominate all with its vibrancy and rich crown of red. Still, for all the Crimson Queen's beauty and allure, Zuko had learnt from experience that if he held the rose too closely its pleasant facade would crumble, revealing a thorny underside that pierced through tender flesh in tiny pinpricks of pain—sometimes without him even realising. Then the rich crimson would be trailing down his palm and he would know that he had to let the rose go.

He would always have to let it go.

Zuko wished now that he could have learnt his lesson the first time. He also wondered how he had not seen the similarity earlier. Mai always had been good at keeping her distance.

He was sixteen when they had crossed paths again, but he had still been a child when he first noticed her. Glossy black hair, cat-like eyes, and skin as pale as the moon. She was small and still growing into her beauty, but he had known that she would grow up to be something special. He had not been disappointed. The warrior that had stood before him in resplendent red was more woman than girl, and her lips had become infinitely more tempting. He had wanted to draw her closer. He did not notice the thorns that caressed his skin when she accepted his embrace.

"_You're so beautiful when you hate the world."_

He'd said it like it was a compliment. Back then, it was. He'd been bitter and confused, loathing the world and everything in it. She had joined in his misery, fuelling the dark fire within him with her dry comments and stoic ways. It was only natural that they should have come together. In some ways, it was even a relief that she was so indifferent to everything. She didn't care what he had done—what his failures or regrets might be. Her only demand was that he not bore her. Zuko had thought he could live with that.

He tried to ignore the little pinpricks of pain that dug into his heart whenever she shut him down for attempting to do something nice for her. He tried to not let it bother him when he wanted to express his thoughts and she just sighed in that weary way of hers, as if he were a small child that she had to humour. He focussed instead on the way she made him laugh, on the sweet taste of her kisses, and the silky softness of her skin. It helped, a little, but the ache in his chest still remained, growing stronger with each passing day.

Whispering that something was wrong.

It wasn't until he joined the Avatar that he realised what he had been missing. He noticed it the first time he looked at a sunset and saw beyond the orange that Mai oh-so-hated to the simple beauty of fire in its purest form, admiring the way the sun painted the sky in various colours of warmth. He felt it when he knelt in front of a circle of ragtag children to serve tea and tell bad jokes—because he could only ever remember the punch line—and they just smiled and laughed in fond acceptance, because _that's what friends do,_ and it wasn't as if he was the only one who couldn't tell a joke to save himself. However, it was when a girl with ocean-blue eyes threw her arms around him in an impulsive hug that the truth was finally confirmed to him.

Zuko had not been expecting such a display of open affection from her. Weeks of distrust and bitterness had kept them apart, yet in that moment she had held him close—close enough for him to feel her heart beat in time with his and to know with a sweet assuredness that he had been forgiven. Instinct had inspired him to mirror her movements, drawing her even closer so he could bury his face into her shoulder, and in that moment he had finally felt at peace.

He had felt _happy_.

That was when Zuko had known he would never be able to return to Mai. Because he didn't hate the world; he had just never learnt how to appreciate it before. But now—now he understood what it meant to cherish life and warmth and all the silly foibles that made people human. Now he understood what it meant to _love_, and he realised that he didn't want to go back to embracing a heart of thorns. He didn't want his soul to bleed in pain anymore.

Mai was a Crimson Queen rose, and he knew that he had to let her go. He would always have to let her go.

* * *

For the record, I actually don't mind a well-written Mai/Zuko piece. I think, given time and a lot of hard work from both, the two of them actually could be happy together. Unfortunately, only fanon has been able to convince me thus. The way these two are portrayed together in canon just does not work for me. Hence, why I like Zutara. I'm all about balance (of the happy kind). ^_~


	12. Turtle Duck

I got a random urge to write a Zutara-ish drabble thing and this is the result (yes, I'm very eloquent tonight). All the dialogue in italics has been quoted from the scene in "Zuko Alone" where Ursa and Zuko are feeding the turtle ducks.

Soundtrack: Aisling – Meav and Anuna

* * *

**Turtle Duck**

* * *

_Hey, Mum. Want to see how Azula feeds turtle ducks?  
_

* * *

He's only trying to do what he must. It's not like he actually wants to hurt them; the Avatar is just a child, and the other three would not have even warranted his attention were it for not their chosen travelling companion. So he makes sure he never lets his fire burn their tender flesh; he wants to frighten rather than wound, but sometimes he gets desperate and things get out of hand. Sometimes, it's just so easy to push his conscience aside and think like Azula, because he knows from experience that suffering and fear will get results, and he's been waiting so long. So terribly long.

He just wants to go home. He just wants his honour back.

But he is not Azula, and the pain he causes is like fire released into a strong wind, blowing back to burn him even as he drives his enemies into the ground. It turns all to ash and guilt—so much guilt.

Because he's only trying to do what he must, but he knows in his heart that he should be doing what is right.

* * *

_Stupid turtle duck. Why'd she do that?  
_

* * *

He doesn't understand why the Waterbender hates him so much. The others have all accepted him into the group, albeit in their own way, but not her. She can't be like Aang and Toph, who were willing to forgive him almost instantly (though sometimes he wishes Toph wouldn't show her affection for him quite so much, as he's still waiting for the collection of bruises on his arms to fade). She can't be like Sokka, who was willing to put aside their past history if it meant Aang got to learn Firebending (though it certainly helped when the Water Tribe boy discovered that they shared a love for meat, swords and girls). She can't even be like The Duke, Teo and Haru, who he knows are suspicious of him but still leave him alone for the sake of keeping the peace (though he thinks The Duke might be warming up to him, if the kid's sudden inclination for following him around and asking to see his dao swords is anything to go by).

No, Katara cannot forgive him. She remembers every bit of pain he has caused, every stupid mistake, and she lets him know it, too. Every glare is like an ice-edged knife to his chest; every biting remark as hard and cold as her water whips. Her hate is like a constant presence at his side, more tangible than his own shadow, and it hurts more than he cares to admit. Because he still remembers the glowing cave. He still remembers the strange sensation of her touch, so gentle and unflinching, and how for a moment—just a moment—they had understood each other.

Perhaps that is why he's so desperate to earn her forgiveness—to prove to her that he is not the same boy who sided with Azula that day in the catacombs, even if he still has the scar. But she refuses to accept his olive branch; she spurns his help and mocks him at every opportunity, and somehow that hurts him even more when he sees the way she treats the others. She's so tender and patient with them, so protective; it's obvious that she cares for them deeply.

But not him. Never with him.

* * *

_That's what mums are like. If you mess with their babies, they'll bite you back.  
_

* * *

He's lost count of the number of times she has thrown his past back in his face. It's a miracle he hasn't lost his temper as well, but he's beginning to understand why she is still upset with him now. It's in the way she fusses and frets over the little group—especially the younger ones—whenever they've done something wrong or particularly dangerous. It's in the way she smiles and tends to their every need, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But mostly, it's in the way she glares at him for even daring to approach Aang, as if she's afraid he might suddenly send a fireball for the kid's head.

Because Katara is the mother of these children, and he hurt them a long time ago.

He understands that it will be a while before she trusts him again. He doesn't mind, though, because he remembers another mother who attacked him for threatening her baby. He remembers how he couldn't make the turtle duck listen to his pleas for forgiveness either, but that, little by little, he did manage to earn back her trust—not through grand words, but through simple actions.

Zuko knows that Katara is stubborn and can hold one hell of a grudge, but then he was never one to give up without a fight. It doesn't matter how long it takes, because someday he knows that he will earn her forgiveness.

Someday, he knows that he will be able to call her his friend.


	13. Stitching Up the Divide

Soundtrack: Yuanjia and Moon - Shigeru Umebayashi

* * *

**Stitching Up the Divide**

It was the flow of angry muttering that first alerted Katara to his presence. Only one person had such a low, raspy voice, so she wasted no time in sneaking around the side of the pillar to discover what he was doing (because he was evil and untrustworthy, and she was certain that it had to be something horrible). Here would be her proof to show to the others that they couldn't trust the prince and that they should find a new firebending teacher for Aang; however, the sight that met her eyes turned out to be quite different.

Zuko sat hunched over on the ground, his pale skin gleaming with the golden hues of fire as the sun caressed his bare chest and arms. Katara was a little unnerved to find him shirtless—she didn't know why, but the sight of that lean, undeniably masculine body always made her feel a bit flushed. Frowning, she raised her eyes to his face, but his head was bowed so that his features were half-obscured by a veil of black. She could still see the scar, though: a hateful slash of red that had been burned onto the left side of his face, marking him for the banished prince that he was. Looking at it now just reminded her of the Crystal Catacombs—of the betrayal that had nearly cost them everything.

"_I thought you had changed!"_

"_I have changed!"_

Katara curled her hands into fists, and she was all ready to march over to where he was sitting and give him a piece of her mind when the prince let out a small hiss of pain. He cursed under his breath and sucked his finger, glaring at the mass of red cloth resting on his lap. It took her a moment to realise that it was his tunic, and that the reason he was now sucking his finger was because he had stabbed it with the needle he clutched in his other hand.

Her jaw dropped. Was Zuko—the same arrogant jerk who had once called her a peasant—actually trying to sew?

She watched as the firebender, still grumbling under his breath, bent back over his tunic and stuck the needle through the cloth, which he then tugged out the other side in a trail of crimson to seal up the hole that had been torn into the sleeve. The zigzagging mess of thread told her all too well of how he was succeeding.

"You're doing it wrong," Katara observed, stepping out from her hiding place.

Zuko flinched at the sound of her voice and stuffed the tunic behind his back. "W-what?" he stammered, looking a bit pink in the face.

Katara closed the distance between them and held out her hand. "Give it to me."

He stared at her warily, as if he thought she was going to attack him any second with one of her water whips. When she continued to look at him expectantly, he just sighed and, without meeting her gaze, handed over the tunic. Katara examined the stitches and was unable to suppress a snort of amusement when she saw how uneven and ugly they all were.

"You're not very good at this, are you?"

Zuko's blush darkened to a rich plum and he folded his arms and looked the other way. "It's not as if it was something I had to learn."

No, she thought with a wry smile. A Fire Nation prince probably had a whole hoard of servants to do his sewing for him. It was only while Zuko had been on the run in the Earth Kingdom that his clothing had ever looked tattered and dirty. Even then, she figured that General Iroh had probably done the mending.

"Why didn't you just come to me?" Katara asked, placing a hand on her hip. "It's what everyone else does."

Zuko gave her a blank look; he didn't need to speak for her to hear what he was thinking.

_Maybe it's because I'm not like everyone else. Maybe it's because you made it clear that you hate me. _

Katara had to admit that if Zuko had come to her with the torn sleeve, she didn't know if she would have agreed to assist him. It bothered her that he had assumed what her reaction might be and so had just decided to not ask her at all; instead, he had hidden himself away in this alcove and butchered the fine cloth with his ugly, unskilled stitches. Because he thought she would be spiteful. Because she knew that she had been spiteful.

_He deserved it_, she argued, trying to justify her actions. _He nearly got Aang killed. He betrayed us. Me. I can't just forgive that._

In her heart, however, she knew that Zuko hadn't done anything wrong since he had joined them at the Western Air Temple. If anything, he had tried to help the group as much as was in his power. For some reason, that made her angry as well.

"Just give me the needle and thread," Katara said with an exasperated sigh, keeping her face turned away from him.

"You don't have to—"

"Do you want your tunic mended or not?" she demanded, throwing him a glare.

Zuko fell silent. He stared at her for a moment, and she was conscious of the way his gaze seemed to slide along the barriers of her heart and mind, trying to discover her motives. Then, with a shrug, he simply handed her the needle and thread.

"Thank you," Katara said with exaggerated politeness.

The prince said nothing and simply rested his elbows on his knees, watching her as she sat down next to him and began unpicking his stitches so that she could start afresh. The weight of his gaze was disquieting, like a touch of fire burning her skin. She ignored him and soon got lost in the rhythm of her work, focussing only on the endless loop of the needle as she sewed the torn cloth back together in tiny red stitches.

"You make it look so easy," Zuko said after a moment.

"That's because it is easy," Katara responded, not raising her eyes from her task.

"Not for everyone," he muttered. "Some people can never get it right. Some people just make things worse."

_Like me._

The unspoken words lingered between them, vulnerable and impossible to ignore. She glanced at his profile, but he had his head bowed again and all she could see was the angry colour of his scar burning through the strands of black in a mark of dishonour that could never quite be hidden. Somehow, she got the sense that he had been referring to more than just mending a few rips in some cloth.

Katara let out a small breath. There were many things that she could have done in that moment. She could have shoved his past back in his face, as a part of her wanted to do. She could have forced him to see all of the mistakes that he had made—mistakes that had left deep chasms in her heart as wide as the Great Divide, and which could not be stitched together so easily. There had never been any threads of forgiveness for him, no needle to guide his fumbling attempts to prove to her that he was sorry. She hated him, distrusted him, but she also couldn't ignore the quiet distress that emanated from his hunched over form. In that moment, he was no longer Prince Zuko; he was just a boy who was upset. A boy who thought that he couldn't fix anything.

Silently, she placed the half-mended tunic on his lap. He stared at her in surprise, his golden irises overly bright.

"I'll show you how to stitch up the hole properly," Katara said, offering him the needle and thread. "Then you'll know how to do it yourself."

Zuko didn't respond at first. He just stared at her through those mismatched eyes of his, as if her simple gesture had stolen any sound or movement that he could have made. It was sad in a way, but then he pulled himself together and she felt his fingers brush against her palm as he accepted the sewing tools, surprising her for the warmth and gentleness of the contact.

"Thank you, Katara," he said quietly. "I would like that."


	14. Of Bugs and Slugs

This was written for a 'Dare' at _**PaintedBlue**_. The prompt was to write a drabble/short story where Katara has to eat some sort of questionable Fire Nation food at Zuko's insistence.

* * *

**Of Bugs and Slugs**

It looked like a bug. A really, really big bug.

Katara picked up her fork and gave an experimental prod to the … _thing's_ shell. She was relieved that it didn't move, but that didn't change the fact that the so-called Fire Nation delicacy she was supposed to be eating looked like a vibrant orange version of a canyon crawler. A really, really ugly canyon crawler, with crispy antennas and curled up legs, and—oh spirits, how was she supposed to eat this thing? It was even worse than the food the swamp benders had tried to give her that one time, and even then she had settled for a possum-chicken kebab.

Her eyes shifted to Zuko, who was dressed in full Fire Lord regalia, and looking very formal as he sat at the head of the table. She noticed that he didn't have one of the bug things on _his_ plate; instead, he was enjoying what looked like some kind of spicy noodle soup. Why couldn't she have spicy noodle soup?

"Hey, Zuko," Katara said in a low voice, leaning closer so she could speak to him without attracting too much attention. "Where can I get some of that soup?"

Zuko looked up from his plate, good eyebrow rising slightly. "You don't like your flame hopper?"

Katara scrunched up her nose. "I can't say I'm really in the mood for fried bug."

"Flame hoppers are a Fire Nation delicacy."

"So people keep telling me," she muttered, repressing a scowl.

Zuko met her gaze steadily. "That dish was specifically chosen to welcome you, our new Southern Water Tribe ambassador, to the Fire Nation. If you don't eat it, you'll be seen as offending me and every other person in this room."

Katara stared around at the party guests, all of whom had proven themselves to be strict followers of protocol (which really just meant that they would likely kick up a huge fuss should she do anything even the slightest bit untoward). Then her gaze fell back on Zuko, who simply raised his eyebrow a fraction higher, as if to ask what she was waiting for. The waterbender gulped and stared back down at her plate. Her bug-infested, horribly unappetising plate.

Reluctantly, she picked up her fork and dug it into the flame hopper's side. Juice squirted and dribbled out from the hole in an orange ooze; Katara had to cover her mouth to stop from gagging.

"I really don't think I can eat this," she said, placing her fork down and turning back to Zuko.

His mouth twitched, but then he returned to looking grim and serious. "You know what will happen if you don't."

Her stomach plummeted. Right. All of the Fire Nation officials would think that she was purposely trying to offend them, the Fire Lord, and probably their whole country and culture. Then they would all hate her, as they no doubt already did for the simple fact that she was Water Tribe. She sighed. It looked like there was nothing for it.

Cringing, and still trying not to gag, Katara picked up the flame hopper and took a bite out of its side. The taste was revolting, like rotten meat mixed with mango, and it had her pulling faces that would have put even Sokka to shame for the overt disgust she displayed. It was a relief when she finally managed to swallow the food; unfortunately, the taste still lingered.

"It's good, right?" Zuko prompted.

She didn't notice the glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes; instead, she smacked her lips a few times in distaste and then reached for her glass of water, making a noncommittal sound of agreement. When she finally summoned the courage to take her next bite, Zuko ducked his head and busied himself with his soup, though his shoulders were shaking slightly.

Katara ignored him and focussed on chewing as quickly as possible, for the taste was so much worse this time, as if she'd got an extra dose of rotten meat. It was repulsive. She could feel the juices sliding along her tongue and bits of shell getting stuck in her teeth, and—

She clamped a hand over her mouth, not quite able to muffle the retching sound that escaped her lips. To her surprise, Zuko let out a sudden bark of laughter; a sound that seemed to go on and on and on, like a mocking bell ringing in her head, until the normally dignified Fire Lord had to bury his face into his arm to stifle his amusement. Katara's cheeks flamed with pink, both out of anger and embarrassment, for now some of the other officials were chuckling as well, while the rest just seemed to be staring at her—and Zuko—in horror. No doubt they thought it was her fault that their Fire Lord had lost his usual poise and was now hunched over the table, shaking with laughter.

"Zuko," she hissed, dropping her fork none-too-gently on her plate and gripping his arm. "What is going on? And get a hold of yourself!" she added. "Everyone is staring at us!"

He raised his head, and she was disgusted to see that there were traces of tears in his eyes. It wasn't _that _funny!

"Y-you actually ate it," he managed to gasp out. "I didn't think you would, but—"

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

A cheeky grin curved his mouth. "You know that time I came to visit you and Sokka in your village, and you insisted that I had to eat those stewed slug things?"

"They weren't slugs, they were stewed sea prunes, and—"

"Well, they looked and tasted like slugs to me," he said bluntly.

There was a moment where they two of them just stared at each other, and then the pieces of puzzle at last seemed to fit together and Katara let out an angry gasp, pointing her finger at him in accusation.

"You—you set this up, didn't you?"

He spread his hands in an appeasing gesture. "Hey, you made me eat Water Tribe slugs; I made you eat Fire Nation bugs. Now we're even."

Katara glowered. They most definitely were _not_ even. Not at all. She would make him rue the day he tricked her into eating a flame hopper.

But first she would have to get rid of that awful taste.


	15. Divide

I actually wrote this for my 'Pride' submission for Zutara Month, but I didn't like it and decided to scrap it for something else. However, it occurred to me that it would be a waste to delete it entirely, so I'm sticking it here. I realise it's no masterpiece, but maybe you'll get something out of it anyway. ^_~

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**Soundtrack: **Our Great Divide – Tarja

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**Divide**

He has always known how to bow, but only to someone of higher rank. A prince does not kneel before peasants; he does not lower himself to the ground, hands held out in surrender as he begs for forgiveness. But then Zuko is not a prince; he is an outcast, banished from his country and home. He has been humbled through bitter experiences and regrets, and any pride he might have had was lost a long time ago.

He just wants to make things right.

She doesn't know what to make of this boy, so different from the fierce warrior she remembers. She has shut him down again and again; pushed and prodded at his bruises with vindictive pleasure, because she cannot accept that he has changed. She wants him to show his true colours—to prove to everyone why he doesn't deserve her forgiveness—but he refuses to rise to her bait. He is quiet and patient, helpful and apologetic, and it is only pride that stops her from listening to what her heart already knows.

She just wants to feel that she is justified.

They both know that there is no reason for their worlds to collide; however, they are both relieved when they finally embrace, holding each other so tightly that they can feel their hearts beat as one. It as if the weight of their past has finally melted away. She is no longer a peasant in his eyes, and he is no longer her enemy. They are just two people who have come together, putting aside their differences for the sake of friendship.

They just want to make things right. They just want to close the divide.


	16. Pretty in Red

This was written for a 'dare' at _**Painted Blue**_. The prompt was to write a one-shot where one of the characters has to pretend to be of the opposite gender. Naturally, I couldn't resist taking up the challenge.

I should also state that certain elements of this story have been inspired by the video game Final Fantasy VII—specifically, the part where Cloud has to dress up as a girl to make sure Aeris doesn't go into Don Corneo's place alone.

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**Soundtrack:** Jecht's Theme – Nobuo Uematsu

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**Pretty in Red**

"Stop walking like that," Katara hissed.

"Like what?" Zuko demanded, throwing a glare at a particularly leery-eyed gentleman.

"Like you're the Fire Lord and you've come to conquer the world with your big, stompy steps!"

"I'm not trying to—this is how I walk, Katara," he snapped, looking a bit flushed.

"Sure, but right now you are not the Fire Lord. You are Zhu, the daughter of a tea merchant, and you cannot be seen stomping about like some warrior on a battlefield. You have to—"

"Float," Zuko interrupted with a sigh. "I know, I know. I'm _floating_."

Or, at least, he took a few steps that were light and graceful, making it look as if he were skimming the surface of the ground, but then his stride widened, he began to plant his feet more firmly with each step, and even the fan he kept raised to cover half of his face couldn't disguise the raw strength captured in every motion of his body. Katara sighed and shook her head.

"This is never going to work," she mumbled.

"I told you it was a stupid idea," he retorted, scowling at her from behind the cover of his fan. "Or have you forgotten that this was all your doing. It's not like I wanted to become Miss Zhu."

"You wouldn't have had to if you had just let me handle this. You know I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Right. I should have just let you go into what is essentially a whore house on your own, never mind the fact that one of the most vicious criminals from the Fire Nation underground runs the place. Oh, and let's not forget that he has an army of powerful benders at his bidding." Zuko's voice took on a tone of false brightness. "You're right, Katara, that sounds like a great idea. Let me just sign my death warrant with your father and brother while I'm at it."

Katara rolled her eyes, just as she had done the first time when he had told her that her 'brilliant plan' was foolish, dangerous, and that she was not going anywhere near Guangyu alone. "Well, you don't have to get so snippy about it," she muttered.

"I'm not getting snippy!"

"You are too! You've been a complaining grump from the moment you put on that dress—and need I remind you that _you_ agreed that this was the only way we could get into Guangyu's establishment without having our covers blown." She pointed her fan at him as if it were a weapon. "So suck it up, Miss Zhu, and keep floating."

Zuko gave her his best evil eye, but he picked up the thick folds of his dress so that he wouldn't trip and resumed the mincing walk that Katara had taught him. It was humiliating, but then this whole day had been one big mortifying mess. He knew that the disguise was necessary—for only females were allowed an unquestioned free pass into Guangyu's establishment—but he was certain that things would not have been so bad had Katara and the old crone they'd been staying with not taken to transforming him into a woman quite so enthusiastically …

"_It's fortunate you have such long, lovely hair," the crone said, running her fingers through the black strands. "No need for cheap wigs, and if we put it in a style like this—" she brought a part of his hair forward, allowing it to half-veil the left side of his face "—we can cover up most of your scar. Now we just the put the rest of your hair up into a loose bun, like so, and finish it all off with a red peony." She arranged the flower above his left ear, making sure it would not fall off, and then stepped back with a satisfied smile. "Perfect!"_

"_Oh, that does look nice!" Katara exclaimed, then stood up from her seat. "Let me do the make-up now!"_

_Zuko glared at the waterbender. "Wait a minute. You didn't say anything about make-up."_

"_How else are we supposed to make you look like a woman? You don't want the guards to turn you away at the door, do you?"_

_He opened and closed his mouth a few times and then sighed, hunching his shoulders in defeat. "Fine."_

_She grinned and then leaned over him with her little kit. The next few minutes were spent being told to close his eyes, then open his eyes, then part his lips, then turn his face that way—no, that way!—and all the while he had a perfect view of Katara's cleavage. Not that he was looking. It was just rather hard not to notice the soft curves overflowing from her bodice when her chest was directly in his line of vision. Maybe he should have stopped her from buying that dress, but then he wasn't her brother, and she had just been so stubborn, and—_

"_There!" Katara said, stepping back. "Now you just need to change clothes."_

_Zuko got to his feet with a sigh and slipped off his robe, standing in just his undergarments while Katara helped him into his feminine attire. As the Fire Lord, he was used to having people dress him, but that was in warrior's armour or his formal robes (which had about five different layers and were impossible to get on by himself). Those people had also been servants who were trained to slide silk across skin and do up ties as inconspicuously as possible. Katara had no such training, and he was deeply aware of every brush of her fingers, every little inhale and exhale. It was a relief when she finally gave him some space, telling him that he was ready and could now look in the mirror._

_Dread pooling in his stomach, Zuko walked over to the mirror and—_

"_No one is to know about this," he said firmly, turning away from his reflection with his cheeks burning. "_No one_."_

_Katara's lips curved into a smile. "No need to be embarrassed, Zuko. You make a very pretty female; I knew that red dress would look good on you with your dark hair and pale complexion." _

"_Ah, but he is missing one thing," the crone interjected._

"_Wha—" he began, when she suddenly stuffed two mangos down the front of his dress. _

"_That's better."_

_Zuko just groaned. "Seriously, Katara. No one is to know about this. Ever. I'll know if you tell them, and I will hunt you down and kill you."_

"_Relax," she said, waving off his threats with a dismissive hand. "Your secret is safe with me. Now let's get going, Miss Zhu!" She shoved a painted, ivory fan into his hands. "I do believe you are ready to face the guards."_

And so they had, appearing before the warriors in all their feminine glory under the guise of being 'gifts' for Guangyu. Zuko didn't think he would ever be able to live down being told that he was 'quite the looker', even if the guards had showed more interest in Katara, but then he had not counted on Guangyu deciding that strapping, rather muscular females with pale gold eyes were just his thing. Unfortunately, it turned out that the leader of the rebel gang also had wandering fingers.

Zuko stood rigid as the older man circled around him like a predatory feline, smiling and making satisfied noises every now and then. There were bender warriors surrounding the chamber, and since the whole point of this mission was to get Guangyu alone so that they could get the desired information out of him without sounding the alarm, the young Fire Lord had known that he could not show any signs of aggression, no matter what happened. It was just so very difficult when the large, hairy man kept licking his lips and running his fingers up and down Zuko's arms, as if the firebender were some kind of sweet delicacy that he wanted to gobble.

"Such a strong woman," Guangyu observed, now moving his hand down to Zuko's waist. "I do like my women strong. Means they have a bit of fight to 'em."

Zuko made a noncommittal sound and then looked towards Katara, pleading with his eyes for help. That was when he felt a meaty hand grip his arse. He let out a yelp and almost dropped into a bending stance, ready to retaliate with an inferno of indignant fury, but then Katara caught his eye and shook her head in a sharp gesture. Frustrated, Zuko forced himself to stay calm, though he wanted nothing more than to punch the idiot man in his stupid, hairy face.

"Mm, nice and firm," Guangyu commented, indulging in another squeeze. "Yes, I think I'm going to have lots of fun with you."

A hint of smoke curled free of Zuko's nostrils, but he managed to keep control of his temper and instead brought the fan up to cover the lower half of his face, taking a step back from the gang leader. "Now, now, Guangyu," he said in a higher pitched, but still raspy voice, "don't you think you should wait until we're alone for that?"

Guangyu let out a chuckle. "No need to be shy, darling."

Zuko evaded the grabby hands that reached for him. "Oh, but I really must insist," he said, repressing the urge to gag even as he forced a giggle. "How can we enjoy ourselves with all of these men watching?"

The gang leader paused and stroked his beard, eyeing Zuko closely. "Well, if you're that eager to be alone, sugarplum, I suppose I can let you have your way just this once." He looked over his shoulder at his guards. "Leave us!"

The bender warriors bowed and then started filing out of the room.

"What about me?" Katara asked, exchanging a quick glance with Zuko.

"Don't worry, Blue Eyes," Guangyu said with a leering wink. "You'll get your turn."

Zuko repressed the urge to gag again, but then the hairy man was glancing back at him and he plastered a smile on his face, fluttering his fan to and fro. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the last of the benders and Katara passing through the doors. She met his gaze for a moment, looking almost apologetic, but then the doors slammed shut and Zuko found himself alone with Guangyu. There was a pause as they both stared at each other.

"Looks like I get you all to myself," Zuko observed, still hiding his face behind the fan.

"Looks like you do," Guangyu murmured, moving closer so that Zuko could smell the alcohol and spices wafting from the man's breath. "And now, my pretty one. Now it's time for us to really heat things up."

"I completely agree," Zuko said in his normal voice, and then he snapped his fan shut and punched the man in the nose.

Guangyu let out a cry of pain and stumbled to the ground, blood streaming down his face from where the bone had been broken, and all the while swearing bloody murder. Zuko was on him in a second, straddling the man's hips and wrestling with him to keep him pinned to the ground before he finally managed to knock him out with a hard blow to the head.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Zuko turned at the sound of the voice to see Katara leaning against the door, watching him with a smile. Two guards lay unconscious at her feet. That had certainly been quick.

"You know damn well this isn't what it looks like," he snapped, getting off Guangyu's inert form and standing back to his feet.

"I know," she agreed, and her smile widened a fraction, "but I do find it funny that you came here to protect me, only to end up being harassed yourself. I never knew you were such a charmer, Miss Zhu."

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please, just shut up."

She laughed. "If only Sokka and Toph could see you now. Just think what they would have to say."

His eyes narrowed. "They are never allowed to know about this, Katara," he growled, repeating his earlier words. "Not ever. Once we're through with Guangyu, we're just going to pretend like this never happened and that will be the end of it."

"That's okay," she responded with an affable smile. "Even if I don't speak of it, I'll still be able to cherish the memories of seeing you, the great Fire Lord, dressed up as Miss Zhu in your pretty red dress."

Zuko glowered at her. "I hate you."

Katara grinned. "No, you don't."

He sighed. No, he really didn't, and that was the problem. Only for her sake would he have ever agreed to such a humiliating scheme, and now he knew he was going to live with that mortification for the rest of his life.

_Women_, he thought in disgust.

Can't live with them, can't live without them, and he would make damn sure after this that he would never have to _be_ one of them either. He'd suffered enough for one day.


	17. Healed

This was written for **diftcxs's **dare at Promptbending, which was to write a short story in which Zuko's scar is healed. If you would like to join in the Truth or Dare game yourself (or any of the other challenges), you can find the link to Promptbending on my profile. ^_^

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**Soundtrack:** Gift of Life – Thomas Bergersen

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**Healed**

Katara had not known if she could heal the scar. It was a risk to even try, for she understood that the vial only held enough water from the Spirit Oasis for one healing session. Logic said that she should save the water for something important; something more than just an unsightly mark on a young man's face, yet as she looked at the prince standing opposite her—dirty, bruised, _scarred_—she knew in her heart that this was important. Somehow, her impulsive offer could change everything.

She closed the last of the distance between them and met his gaze as she held the vial in her hand, asking for permission. He stared at her for a long moment, a myriad of emotions flickering in his pale gold irises, and then he simply bowed his head and closed his eyes. It was a quiet act of surrender, and she was conscious of the way her heart thumped against her ribs as she reached out to touch his scar—to touch _him_ for the first time.

He didn't flinch when her fingertips made contact with scarred flesh, but his breathing sharpened when her thumb brushed against his lips in an accidental caress. Warm. He was so warm, and the twisted, puckered flesh felt so strange under her fingers: rough yet soft at the same time, like dragon scales made of silk. It was a bad scar, wounding deep into the tissue and had probably dulled a lot of his nerves; it skewed his left eye into a permanent glare, even when closed, and she saw that the discoloured skin reached all the way up into his hairline and had burnt his ear into some warped, crumpled thing.

She'd never seen anything so ugly. She'd never seen anything so sad. Her heart ached to make it right.

Without a word, she opened the delicate vial and allowed the water to flow out and wrap around her hand like a glove, where it glowed a silvery blue against his red, disfigured flesh. A deep breath, and then she called upon her energy and let it merge with his in a fusion of water and fire; let herself slip away into a trance of instinct, where every chi meridian in his body was mapped out under her palm, guiding her to the right path.

_Heal_, she whispered in her heart, feeling the water connect with the scarred tissue and damaged nerves. _Become whole again._

Nothing happened. Her mouth went dry with panic, but then Zuko stiffened a fraction and she saw the eyelashes on his right eye flutter against his cheek, as if he were fighting to stay calm. That was when she felt the overwhelming rush of response from the twisted path that joined with his scar, like a floodgate being released. Energy flowed through her in a dizzying surge, more powerful than she had ever experienced, and it was as if she were cradling a gnarled, beating heart in her hand; there was so much life, so much pain. She didn't know where to begin, but her instincts showed her how to smooth out the contorted roots; how to mend the fractured ties of his nerves and command scarred tissue to envelop itself in a new skin—one that was smooth and pale and without blemish. It was a slow and draining process, for the scar was years old and had buried itself deep into his core of identity, but she knew that she could not turn back now. She had to keep going.

Zuko trembled slightly as the healing water spread further under her guidance, working its way into his damaged eye to unseal the half-closed lids and encourage dark lashes to grow from newly formed skin. It was a strange sensation, for the healing light of the Spirit Oasis water blinded her to most of the transformation taking place, but she could still feel it as if it were her own face being healed; feel the tiny hairs breaking forth like spring buds to arch and curve above his left eye, painting a dark strip that was identical to the one on his right; feel the way his ear slowly uncurled from its crumpled state and knitted together new flesh, so that it was a perfect mirror of its counterpart. She could feel everything, and it was with a shaky breath that she let the last of the Spirit Oasis water absorb into his skin. His pale, perfect skin.

Katara stepped back, dropping her hand to her side. "It's done," she said with a tired smile.

Zuko didn't move at first, but then slowly, tentatively, he reached up to touch his face. A shudder went through him the moment his fingertips made contact with his cheek, and then he was touching what should have been the disfigured outline of his left eye, his eyebrow, his ear. A choked little sound escaped his lips and he turned away from her, his whole body trembling.

"Hey," she said in alarm, taking a step forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

The dark veil of his hair shifted as he looked at her, but this time there was no crimson slash to skew his features—no mark of dishonour peeping out through the strands of black. He was whole. He was beautiful.

"It's gone," he whispered, almost as if he didn't dare to believe it could be true—as if he thought that any moment this dream would be snatched from him. "It's really gone, isn't it?"

She nodded, and her heart ached for the way he touched his face again, almost in wonder, like a child discovering a new texture that was both strange and wonderful. There was such vulnerability in the small smile that curved his lips, such hope and peace. Katara knew in that moment that she would never regret using the Spirit Oasis water on the prince, for she had done more than just heal his scar; she had healed his soul.

Pale gold locked with blue, and he opened his mouth to speak when part of the wall was suddenly blasted away, sending jagged bits of rock whistling past them and blinding her vision. When the dust had cleared, Aang and the old man she had often seen travelling with Zuko—Iroh, she thought his name was—were standing with them in the catacombs, lit up by the unearthly green light of the crystals.

"Aang!" she cried, rushing towards the airbender and throwing her arms around his neck.

Dimly, she was aware of Iroh doing the same to Zuko, but then there was a gasp. She broke away from Aang to see the old general staring up at his nephew with wide eyes, taking in the unscarred cheek and perfectly symmetrical features.

"Zuko," Iroh said with open awe, "how—your scar, it's—"

"Gone," Aang finished for him, also staring at the prince in wonder.

Zuko shifted self-consciously and once more touched his hand to his face, as if to reassure himself that the skin had not reverted back to its twisted, ugly state. "I—" he began, and then just shook his head, clearly at a loss.

Katara thought she could understand. It was so much for him to take in at once; she hadn't known the details of how he had got the scar, but he had told her enough for her to realise that having it healed was a big deal. A mark of shame, he had called it; a mark of the banished prince, and now it was gone. Now he was free to move on and forget the hurtful past that had shaped his life, his face, his very identity. Or so she wanted to believe.

Aang's gaze flickered to hers. "It was you, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "I used the Spirit Oasis water on his scar. I didn't know if it would work, but I had to try." Her voice softened. "I'm glad I did now."

Zuko gave her a swift glance, and for a moment their eyes met, tangling in a confusing whisper of unspoken words. She saw expressions of gratitude and apology reflected in his golden irises, but there was also something else—something that made her heart quicken and her stomach flutter in strange plummets and soars. Then Iroh was speaking again and the fragile connection was gone. Zuko was averting his gaze, looking uncertain, and Aang was tugging on her wrist, telling her that they had to go, and suddenly everything was passing her by in a blur.

The next time she saw the prince, he was unleashing flames of dangerous beauty and fighting with a ferocity that she had never seen in him before. But he did not attack her, and he did not attack Aang. He stood by their side as their ally, even though his opponent was his own sister. Katara knew in that moment that her instincts had been right. Her impulsive offer had changed everything, and when they later left the cave together, Zuko still had the unscarred features to prove it.


	18. The Omashu Conundrum

This was written for the Valentine's Day Challenge at _**Promptbending**_ (link is on my profile). The rules are listed at the end. I have no idea what I was doing or where I was going with this, but oh well. At least it's something, right? :P

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**The Omashu Conundrum **

Zuko rubbed the base of his neck, feeling a little out of place amidst the brightly dressed revellers and falling confetti. He had come to Omashu to meet with King Bumi to arrange a trading agreement between the kingdoms, but, as chance would have it, his arrival also happened to fall upon Omashu Day. Contrary to popular opinion, the festival had nothing to do with the city's independence from Ba Sing Se, but instead was—

"The day of love!" Sokka exclaimed, looping an arm around Zuko's shoulders. "Isn't this great? We get to enjoy good food, good wine, and I've never seen so many beautiful women together in one place, all ready to bestow a man with a flirtatious smile in the hopes of finding her Shu. It's like one big—"

There was the sound of a throat being cleared. Sokka winced and removed his hand from Zuko's shoulder, turning to face the auburn-haired warrior who was now standing beside him with her arms crossed and her foot tapping on the ground.

"Suki," Sokka said, giving a sheepish smile. "I was just telling Zuko all about—"

"All those beautiful women who keep fluttering their fans at you?" Suki interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps you should focus on the woman whose fans can have you flat on the ground in less than three seconds—and I'm not talking about the head over heels in love kind of fall."

Sokka gulped. Zuko patted his friend on the back, silently wishing him luck, and then headed in the opposite direction, not wanting to linger when every instinct told him that a couple's argument was about to happen. He could still hear Sokka trying to explain to Suki that she was the only Oma for him when King Bumi called for everyone's attention—or, rather, the old man created a giant rock megaphone for himself and ordered the people in the square to shut their clam-traps so that he could tell them a story, all topped with a healthy sprinkle of his snorting laughter.

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. He didn't think he would ever get used to the Omashu king's, uh, _unique_ personality.

"Alright there, Fire Lord?"

Said royalty paused, lowering his hand to see a young woman with umber-tan skin watching him over the top of her fan, which she held up to cover the lower half of her face. Her dark hair was pulled back into an elaborate bun with two ornate pins holding it in place, and she was wearing a high-collared dress of sea-green that fit in perfectly with the colourful, Earth Kingdom crowd. Not that she was a resident of Omashu; he knew as soon as he met her smiling blue eyes that he was looking at the other Water Tribe sibling, and one of his closest friends.

"Katara," he greeted, inclining his head. "I didn't realise that you had come as well. Last I heard, you were at the Foggy Swamp teaching the waterbenders healing."

"I was," she admitted, snapping her fan shut, "but you know Aang and Sokka; they can't resist a party. The moment they got wind of a festival going down in Omashu, it seemed imperative that all of us should attend. Sokka even managed to pull Suki away from her warriors, though I think Toph only came because she wanted to have a rematch with Bumi and show off her metalbending."

Zuko ignored the little sting of jealousy that burned in his stomach. Ever since he had become Fire Lord three years ago, it had been difficult for him to meet up with his old war friends. Mai and Ty Lee had gone off on their own adventures; Aang was busy being the Avatar and looking for airbenders and flying bisons; Sokka was usually to be found at the South Pole, but would sometimes visit Suki, who was back to training her warriors on Kyoshi Island (though the rumour was they would soon both be residing in the South Pole); Toph was busy with her metalbending school; and then there was Katara, who spent most of her time teaching waterbending and healing in both her tribe and other places around the world. Zuko, of course, was stuck in the Fire Nation. Like he always was. Alone. Just doing his Fire Lord thing, and not receiving any special invites to Earth Kingdom love festivals.

His shoulders slumped. Alright, so he was upset. He just didn't understand why his friends hadn't bothered to invite him to the reunion. Sure, he thought love festivals were ridiculous and a waste of time, and sure he had ended up coming anyway, but _they_ hadn't known that.

"Are you okay?" Katara asked, staring at him in concern.

Zuko realised that some of his feelings must have showed in his expression. He sighed and just decided to tell her the truth, knowing that she would pester him until he did regardless. To his surprise, the waterbender let out a giggle and had to cover her mouth with her hand.

"What?" he demanded, folding his arms across his chest. "This isn't funny, you know!"

"I know, I know," she said hastily. "I'm not laughing at the fact you feel left out; it's just—" she giggled again "—um, well, Bumi and Aang decided the only way to get you to attend the festival was if they said it was really for a trade agreement, so—"

Zuko smacked his palm against his forehead. Brilliant. His friends thought he was such an antisocial workaholic that they had decided to mask his invite as something relevant to the Fire Nation. The fact that Zuko probably would have said no had the invitation simply been for Omashu Day—because he was busy and had no time for silly festivals, not because he didn't want to spend time with his friends—was not lost on him either.

Katara rubbed his arm in a soothing gesture, though her eyes continued to sparkle with amusement. "Sorry, Zuko. We didn't mean to trick you, but—"

"It's fine," he said, shaking his head. "A little humiliating, but fine."

A smile curved her lips. "Well, I know that _I'm_ happy to see you again. It's been much too long."

He barely got a chance to react before she was enfolding him in her arms, holding him close. Zuko felt his heart quicken as her body pressed right up against his (those curves had definitely not been so prominent the last time they'd hugged like this), but then she let him go and he was able to breathe again.

_She's your friend_, he reminded himself. _Get a grip._

Katara, quite oblivious to the war going on between the firebender's mind and body, simply tugged him down by his hand to sit with her on one of the stone benches. There wasn't much point trying to do anything else with King Bumi still waffling on about the legend of Oma and Shu, which was supposed to be very sad and romantic. Unfortunately, the earthbender king kept snorting with laughter at odd moments and making bad jokes, so the result was more comical than the epitome of tragic romance.

The waterbender frowned as the king got to the part where Oma was mourning the loss of her lover. "This is terrible," she said, sounding quite put out.

"You're telling me," Zuko responded flatly. "And here I thought only the Ember Island Players knew how to butcher a story so shamelessly."

Katara's mouth twitched. "I suppose we should have seen it coming. This is Bumi we're talking about; he wouldn't have been able to resist making the badgermoles tell blind jokes."

"Or have Oma searching for her 'beloved Shu' on the battlefield, only to have people think she was talking about an actual shoe."

There was a pause as they both digested this most blasphemous of additions.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to need a drink," Zuko stated, standing up. Anything to distract him from the awfulness that was King Bumi's tale. "You want one?"

Katara nodded, most emphatically. He laughed and made his way towards the table where two jugs of wine had been set out, pouring both himself and Katara a glass. It was a mission getting back through the crowd without spilling the contents, but somehow he managed it, and then he was sitting back next to the waterbender and they were clinking their glasses together with a hushed cheers.

Zuko's brow creased as the liquid slid along his tongue. It didn't taste like any wine he'd had before, and—

And why was everyone staring at him like that?

Katara clutched her cup tightly on her lap, looking a bit pink in the cheeks. "Zuko, what is going on?"

"I have no idea," he murmured, "but I think that—"

"Aha!" King Bumi exclaimed, using his earthbending to propel himself so that he landed directly in front of the two. "Perfect timing! It seems we have our first proposal to celebrate Omashu Day!"

Zuko blinked. "What?"

"You drank the honey mead together," Bumi explained, grinning at each of them in turn. "In Omashu, that means you're now engaged."

Katara's blush darkened to a rich plum. "Engaged as in _engaged_ engaged?"

"That's right!" Bumi affirmed with a cackle.

Zuko exchanged a startled glance with his supposed fiancée, then looked back at the king. "No," he said flatly. "No way. For one thing, we didn't even know about the tradition, and—"

"And nothing," Bumi interjected, shoving his face right up in Zuko's and peering at the younger man through one squinty eye. "Tradition is tradition, and you drank the special promise wine together." He leaned back, giving another hacking cackle. "That's what happens when you don't pay attention to other people's customs."

Katara stood up, planting her hands on her hips. "Now wait just a minute. You can't just—"

But whatever she was going to say was cut off as Bumi raised his chin, shifting the ground underneath Katara's feet and sending her plummeting straight into the unsuspecting Fire Lord. Zuko got a brief glimpse of wide blue eyes, and then her face—no, her _lips_—were colliding with his in a clumsy kiss, even as his hands instinctively gripped her waist to stop her from knocking them both to the ground. It wasn't at all pleasant … until the pressure on his lips became more curious and exploratory than a simple matter of gravity taking its course. Naturally, Zuko decided that he should respond in kind.

"Well, that settles that," Bumi said, dusting off his hands. He turned to face the rest of the crowd. "Who's next?"

* * *

**Prompt:** Write an AtLA or LoK version of Valentine's Day. Bonus points if you can work in different traditions for each of the nations, or, in the case of Republic City in LoK, some kind of blend of the different traditions. Any pairing goes - fanon or canon - or you can feature no pairing at all if you want to go the grumpy "Down With Love" route.

**Length:** Anything goes.

**Deadline:** February 14th.


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